


They See Me Tumbln'

by Sheepnamedpig



Series: Tumblr Fics [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Animal-Assisted Therapy, Bottom!Ennis, Candy Crush, Clone Sex, Crack, Crimes & Criminals, Crossover, Curtain Fic, Dark Stiles, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Domestic, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female Derek Hale, Fluff, Fortune Cookies, Gangbang, Genderbending, Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Magic, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Modeling, Mute Derek, Muteness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Precog!Stiles, Psychological Drama, Ranma 1/2 Crossover, Sheriff Stilinski/Ennis, Slavery, Stiles and Kira are Bros, Stripper Derek, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tamagotchi, Transistor (Video Game) - Freeform, Violence, Werespider!Stiles, eeames' hs au, top!Sheriff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 22,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fics originally posted to <a href="http://sheepnamedpig.tumblr.com/">my Tumblr</a>, edited and collected here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Productivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [chokarrie](http://chokarrie.tumblr.com/) requested: Bottom!Derek heat fic.

"Fuck," Stiles wheezes. His hips jerk as he unloads into Derek’s loose, wet ass, filling it with another helping of jizz. "Fuck, this spell  _rocks_.”

One of the other Stileses holds up a hand, palm out, and Stiles high-fives it. The loft is full of magical Stiles clones, all milling around naked in various states of hardness, waiting for or recovering from their respective turns in Derek’s ass or mouth. 

Derek, in the throes of his annual heat, moans around another Stiles’ cock as the one in his ass pulls out, rubbing the head of his dick along his crack, smearing the come that oozes out of his gaping hole. He pushes his cock back in while it’s still mostly hard, hissing at the heat of Derek’s body around his sensitive prick before pulling out. Come, fresh and less-fresh, coats the length of it, and the Stiles with his cock in Derek’s mouth scoots over to make space at the head of the bed so Derek, on elbows and knees, can suck him clean.

Another Stiles steps up to Derek’s ass, cock slicked with only the bare minimum of lube, and slides home on one easy thrust. Derek barely reacts beyond a flutter of his eyelashes as he takes a come-soaked cock into his mouth.

It’s a relief for Stiles to see him this way, relaxed and sated even as his heat burns at full strength. Their previous heats hadn’t been nearly as good, Stiles’ human stamina giving out long before Derek’s werewolf recovery time no matter what they tried: toys, kinks, Viagra. They’d gotten close one time, when they’d decided to invite a few other guys over for a day, Danny’s more trustworthy acquaintances from Jungle, but even a few years on, just the thought of other people touching Derek, filling his ass with their come, makes Stiles’ hands unconsciously clench into fists. With this spell, Derek gets as much fucking as he needs, and at the end of the ten days, the only smell on him will be Stiles’.

One of the Stileses emerges from the bathroom with a bowl of lukewarm water and a few washclothes, and he and another Stiles get to wiping Derek down, cleaning away a tacky layer of dried sweat and streaks of come. Derek shivers at the cool water against his feverish skin and then shivers again when the rough pile of the cloths scrapes over his peaked nipples. The Stiles buried in his ass pulls out just long enough for them to roll Derek onto his back, then pushes right back in, fucking Derek in smooth, easy strokes.

The Stileses gently ease him up into a sitting position and hold a glass of water up near his face, the straw tapping against his lip, but Derek’s mouth hangs open, like it’s spent so much time being held open by the Stileses' cocks that it’s forgotten how to close. Stiles gently cups his jaw, manually lifting it shut so Derek can suckle greedily at the straw, replenishing the water that he’s been sweating out. Another Stiles has a bowl of thick stew ready and he spoons it carefully into Derek’s mouth between sips of water.

The Stiles that has been fucking him continuously through this is getting close, but ruthlessly maintains his smooth rocking as the other Stileses continue to feed Derek. After the stew there’s bread smeared in jam, a sugary pick-me-up, and then a bowl of mixed fruits, hand-fed into Derek’s eager mouth. The sight of him sucking sweet juice off of the other Stileses' fingers makes Stiles come, his cock jerking in Derek’s ass.

Glazed, unfocused eyes drift over to lock onto Stiles’ messy, dripping cock as he pulls out, and the other Stileses make space so that Derek can finish his meal with a helping of come-streaked cock.

Another Stiles, sitting on the couch and charting data while he works up to his third erection of the day, marks another tally on the Excel spreadsheet.

Three days down, seven more to go.


	2. Welcome to Beacon Hills pt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More TW/WtNV crossover. This time, a proper blog post from Derek, Beacon Hills’ unofficial news blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the first three parts [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/883881/chapters/1787799), [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/883881/chapters/1802522), and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/883881/chapters/1895363).

Tonight’s moon will be a waxing gibbous, 79% of full, so for those of you who are lunarly-inclined, make sure you’ve got your necessary supplies stocked. The weather forecast for the full moon, (provided as usual by Julia Baccari), predicts clear skies with a brisk and chilly westerly wind. If you’re planning on going for a full moon run, remember to bundle up.

City Hall has asked me to remind practitioners of magic that it is  _illegal_ to draw magic from the dog park without prior approval from the city. Since its closure three years ago due to magical hypersaturation from centuries of rituals performed on its grounds, its magic levels are only just reaching a stable equilibrium. Beacon Hills’ ecological thaumatologists are concerned that any further disturbance of the dog park’s delicate balance of magical forces will result in a magical singularity that will suck the entire Earth into its magical maw. So unless you have applied for and been granted special dispensation from City Hall to draw off energy from the dog park,  _please_ stop using it as a magical battery. I’m sure the shadowy inhabitants of the dog park would also appreciate the courtesy.

Speaking of the dog park, Deucalion has asked me to post a reminder that the Alpha Association will be hosting a town hall meeting next week to discuss a Neighborhood Watch program to patrol the area around the dog park and prevent practitioners from illegally siphoning magic, and teenagers from risking the popular dare of jumping the fence and filling a water bottle with water from the fountain at the heart of the dog park. The fountain is not actually a Fountain of Youth, except in the literal sense, referring to the fountain having seized and drowned several middle and high schoolers in the past few years since its closure.

The Beacon Hills’ Sheriff’s Department will be coordinating with the new Neighborhood Watch, and our own Deputy Stilinski has volunteered to help train aspiring Watchentities in maintaining the safety of the dog park and Beacon Hills’ citizenry. So if you’re an alpha of your group or specie, or just a concerned citizen, come to the Alpha Association’s town hall meeting and learn what you can do to help your community.

Girl Scout cookie season is just around the corner, so start saving up your pennies and dimes. Or if you can’t afford another year of crippling debt, lock your doors and barricade yourselves in your homes so that they can’t get to you this time. Make sure you stock plenty of earplugs and keep a blindfold handy at all times, and always keep in mind that they can only hypnotize you into bankrupting yourself with baked deliciousness if you can hear their voices or make direct eye contact.

Vernon Boyd, (you know, the second?), has emailed me a few handy tips I thought I’d pass along to those of you who do still want to buy a few boxes without living the rest of your life in poverty:

1\. Type out and print a detailed list of the type of cookie you want to buy and the exact quantities you want them in. Sign it in blood before a notary public.

2\. Leave the notarized list and the exact amount required to pay (preferably in small denomination bills) in a manila envelope with “To: Girl Scout Troop 606 Leader Victoria Argent RE: May I have some cookies, please?”

3\. For best results, include a donation in the envelope amounting to no less than 20% of your purchase. The higher the donation, the less chance that Scouts who have attained their Siren Song or Hypnotizing Gaze badges will try to mind-control you into opening your door to them. 

4\. Remember to say thank you, and congratulate Troop Leader Victoria Argent on having the largest and most profitable Girl Scout troop in the continental U.S.

Well, since I can’t get enough of those Thin Mints, I’d better get started on making that list and getting it notarized. I hear Deputy Stilinski is a notary public. Do you think he’d be willing to notarize  _my_  list?

…Oh my gosh readers, get your minds out of the gutter. I totally didn’t mean it like that, what are you even thinking? That would be  _so_  inappropriate.

Readers! Erika Reyes just sent me a text saying that Deputy Stilinski is in hot pursuit of a bicycle theif! Apparently the thief grabbed it from its owner and is trying to run away with it, though why he doesn’t just get on it and pedal away, I couldn’t say. I’d better head over to the scene to get the full scoop.

More on this story as events unfold, Beacon Hills. This has been a report.


	3. Level 428

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because fucking [eeames](http://eeames.tumblr.com/post/63992987210/teen-wolf-high-school-au-part-15-candy), that’s why. 

In Derek’s absence, Scott’s pack has taken to using his loft as a sort of common area. A place to meet up, study, avoid the parents, throw the occasional party, etc. So when Derek and Cora come striding in, freshly returned from their road trip, Stiles is there with Allison and Lydia, helping them study for a test he took for the same class last semester.

Well, Cora strides in, looking like she’s ready to dismember something with her bare hands. Derek shuffles in, eyes and hands busy with his phone, looking so relaxed he’s actually slouching where he stands.

"So, uh-" Stiles says. Cora’s gaze snaps in his direction and he steps to his left, putting Allison between them. "I hope you had a nice trip?"

Cora’s face goes fangy and she snarls, throwing her duffle down like the floor did something to personally offend her.

"I’m going to  _murder you_ ,” she growls between rows of very sharp, pointy teeth. “And I’m going to  _enjoy it_.”

Allison straightens at this, her hands going to where she’s got her ring daggers strapped to her thighs.

"He made me drive the whole way there and back," Cora roars, "while he sat in the passenger’s seat playing fucking  _Candy Crush_.” Her voice rises in pitch until she’s practically screaming.

"Oh," Stiles says. "Yeah."

Lydia looks at him, eyebrow raised.

"So I might’ve introduced him to it just before they left. I didn’t know he’d get obsessed," Stiles says blithely. "Well, actually I figured he would, since he’s, y’know,  _Derek_. But you can’t blame me for wanting to add a little sweetness to the guy’s life, can you?” He grins at his own pun.

Allison and Lydia roll their eyes and don’t stop Cora when she lunges for him, going back to their studying as Cora starts chasing Stiles all around the loft. Derek looks up from his game just long enough to plug his phone in, sitting next to the outlet and hopefully out of Stiles and Cora’s way.


	4. Fake Boyfriends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fake boyfriends.

Stiles stares at the group huddled in the Starbucks’ semi-isolated corner table, half appalled and all intrigued.

"Derek, this is getting to be a genuine problem," an older woman says gently. She seems to be about Stiles’ dad’s age, if not a little older. "You can’t keep buying them. I found some in your refrigerator when I brought over a casserole."

The guy she’s talking to, Derek, looks incredibly confused, glancing from face to face like he’s only mostly sure he should be waiting for the “PSYCHE!”

"I don’t—" he stutters helplessly. It’s a weird look on such a hot guy.

"Welcome to your intervention," a younger woman says. The older woman swats her, exasperated.

”My  _what?_ " Derek asks. "Since when did I need an intervention? What do I even need an intervention  _for?_ ”

"For your addiction, baby bro," another of the women says. "And don’t tell me it’s not an addiction. You spent so much on them you barely made rent last month. In fact, if Peter didn't own the building, you’d probably have been evicted by now."

The other man at the table, a middle aged man with a goatee, smirks and sips his drink. He seems content to let the women handle what appears to be a bona fide intervention taking place in a  _Starbucks_.

 _There’s a bunch of lunatics holding an intervention at the Starbucks_ , Stiles texts to Scott. He tries to attach a pic, but there’s some weird lens flare deal going on, and the only thing that really shows up are the backs of the older girl and woman’s heads.

"I’m not addicted to anything," Derek says. "I’ve never so much as smoked a cigarette!"

"We’re talking about your  _books_ , dumbass,” the younger girl says. The older woman smacks her again.

"Be nice to your brother," she chides. "We’re trying to help him."

Stiles’ jaw drops. Seriously?  _Seriously?_  These people are subjecting this poor dude to an intervention because he likes  _books_ _?_  That bullshit is just not on. It’s Stiles’ sworn duty as a professional librarian to save this unfortunate chump from the ignorance of his own family. He quietly gathers his things, getting ready to make his move, once he figures out what his move will be.

"There’s nothing wrong with liking books," Derek says irritably. "If there was, I’m pretty sure the base standard of being educated wouldn’t require literacy."

The older woman, probably Derek’s mother, sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with having books. It’s just, when you buy so many that you can’t afford too feed or house yourself, it affects your health. How can you save up for a house or provide for a family if you spend all your money on books you don’t even have time to read?”

Derek folds his arms over his chest. “It’s  _fine_ ,” he says mulishly.

"Yeah?" the younger sister says. "When was the last time you spent the night holding something with a pulse?"

"Cora," the mom says testily. "We said we weren’t going to bring this up."

"No," the other man says, speaking up for the first time. "She’s got a point, Talia. It’s not healthy for a young man to shut himself away from all companionship. Certain things need to get used every now and then, if you know what I mean."

"I use it!" Derek yelps, at the same time as the mother says, "Peter, I swear to God—"

Derek’s sisters make disgusted faces.

Stiles gets up quietly from his seat, moving toward the door to make it look like he’s just come in.

"Derek!" he shouts with fake surprise, striding over to the corner table. "Hey, baby. I missed you while I was out of town." he ducks down and lays a kiss square on Derek’s mouth, then pretends to notice Derek’s family. "Oh shit, did I interrupt?  _Oh my god_ , is this your family?”

Derek’s mother and siblings stare at him. The other guy’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Um," Derek says.

"Sorry," Stiles says, cupping a hand over the back of Derek’s neck. He rubs his thumb in the hollow behind one ear, trying to sell it, and Derek’s eyelids fucking  _flutter_. “I know you wanted to wait. But at least now we can get the big reveal over with, y’know?”

"Wait," the older sister says. "Lemme get this straight. Are you saying that you’ve been dating Derek?"

Stiles doesn’t bother lying. He’s crap at it, and has learned from having a cop as a dad that it’s better to misdirect or tell half-truths. “You think I’d waltz up to Derek and kiss him if I wasn’t?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"So where’d you meet?" Cora asks, folding her arms on the table.

Stiles snorts. “Where do you think? There’s only one place this guy likes to hang out.” He cards his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Derek’s head. Derek leans into it, apparently willing to play along.

"And what did you say your name was?" Derek’s mom asks.

"Stiles. Stiles Stilinski," he says, holding out his hand. The woman, when she shakes it, has a grip of steel, and when she finally releases him after a few firm pumps, Stiles surreptitiously flexes his fingers behind his back to make sure she didn’t break anything or put a finger out of joint or something.

"Right," she says. Her head tips to the side and she looks at him like she’s trying to place him. He gets that a lot, being the son of an elected official with a name as distinctive as Stilinski. "And what do you do for a living?"

"I work at the county archives," he says, because a public library  _is_  technically an archive of books in a county. “And I do some work with the Sheriff’s department.” Also totally true, though it’s mostly filing and spying on his dad’s lunch habits.

She looks grudgingly impressed at that.

The other man snaps his fingers. “You’re the Sheriff’s son, aren’t you?”

Stiles puts his ‘aw shucks, ma’am/sir’ face on. “Yep. That’s me.” The sisters trade glances and he can practically see Derek’s mom gaining respect for him.

"Yes, Lydia Martin, she was in your year in high school, told me you beat her for valedictorian."

Stiles’ ‘aw shucks’ face becomes more genuine. “Yeah. But to her credit, she didn’t make it easy. How do you know her?”

"Oh, from around," the man says breezily. "Though I thought she said you ended up working as a… Well, I must’ve misheard."

 _He knows_ , Stiles thinks, his stomach sinking. But while the man’s eyes gleam gleefully, it doesn’t seem to be particularly malicious glee, so Stiles thinks he’s safe for now.

Stiles’ phone buzzes a text alert, and Stiles fishes it out, reading Scott’s reply to his text:  _Seriously? Who decides to have an intervention in a Starbucks? What kind of intervention is it?_

"Oh hey, I gotta go, but it was really nice to finally meet you, ma’am," he says to Derek’s mom. He turns to Derek. "I had plans to hang out with Scott. Do you wanna come?"

“ _Yes_ ,” Derek says quickly. “Yes, please. Let’s go.” He stands up and starts crowding Stiles back toward the door, but Stiles stands his ground long enough to wave amiably at Derek’s family.

Derek takes him by the arm and frogmarches him out of the Starbucks and down the street in the complete opposite direction of Stiles’ Jeep.

"What the  _hell_  was that,” Derek hisses at him.

"That was me saving your sorry ass from the most embarrassing intervention ever," Stiles says, yanking his arm out of Derek’s iron grip. He rubs the muscle around the area, knowing that he’s going to have a ring of bruises there by this time tomorrow. "You’re welcome."

"That intervention was none of your fucking business," Derek says coldly.

Stiles feels his lip curl. “Yeah well, as a librarian, I would say that it’s pretty damn close to being my business.”

Derek rears back, looking genuinely shocked. “You’re a librarian?”

"Got a problem with that, Mr. Bibliophile?"

"Um, no. No," Derek says, abruptly contrite. Because apparently librarians get respect while helpful Samaritans get snarling and manhandling. Stiles wonders if maybe he should’ve left Derek to his intervention after all.

"Well lucky for you, it’ll continue to not be a problem. Best of luck figuring out how to tell them I dumped your sorry ass," Stiles says, and turns on his heel, marching away.

In another world, maybe one where Derek is a little colder and Stiles a little less prone to handing out his name and familial relations to anyone who asks, that might’ve been the end of it. But in this world, Stiles goes to work the next day and discovers a box of used books. The note taped on the lid reads: 

_I’m sorry, I don’t react well to surprises. My mom really wants you to come over for dinner this Friday and she’ll skin me alive if she finds out we were lying, so please don’t dump me yet._

_Derek Hale_

_p.s. here’s my phone number (xxx) xxx-xxxx_

Stiles sighs and cancels his and Scott’s brodate. Apparently he’s got a family dinner to attend with his fake boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The box of books is Derek's equivalent of apology flowers.


	5. Sinfully Delicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In reaction to [this](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/64482638412/ever-wanted-to-go-on-a-bacon-wrapped-date-with) ridiculous image, because I am easily provoked.
> 
> The premise is: Stiles and Allison con Derek, their main investor, into modeling for their restaurant’s promotional materials.

Derek lowers himself onto the chaise lounge, artfully decorated plate in one hand, fork in the other, and glares. The expression is so familiar that Stiles barely registers it anymore.

"So just," Stiles waves a hand, "lie there, eat, and look attractive." And then he raises his digital camera and fiddles with the presets while Derek keeps glaring. He does, however, jab the fork into one of the delicate little hors d’oevres and stuff it into his mouth, chewing slowly and angrily.

"Seriously?" Stiles huffs. "Like,  _seriously?_ We’re trying to promote the restaurant, not send people running for the hills when they see some serial killer gnawing on a fork. Lighten up a little, would you?”

Derek sneers around his mouthful. Stiles’ culinary sensibilities are offended on his food’s behalf. His creations should bring joy and ecstasies, not murderous rage. He sighs and turns the camera off, stuffing it in his pocket.

"All right, fine, I get it.  No Derek Hale promotional photoshoots for the restaurants ads." He turns away, fishing his phone out to see if any of his other attractive friends would be willing to sit for the photos on short notice. "Allison, Boyd, Cora, hmm. Not Derek. Finstock? No fucking way. Why the hell do I even have Greenberg’s number?" he mutters. "Huh. Maybe Heather…?"

There’s a sharp screech of silver tines over fine bone china and Stiles jumps, startled, whipping around to glare at Derek. “Easy on the plates, asshole. That’s part of a very expensive set and Lydia will have my fucking spine for a window dressing if you ruin it.”

But Derek doesn’t seem to be listening. He’s reclining against the back of the chaise and glaring in a deceptively sultry way, a smudge of sauce staining his lips a shiny red. He looks like the sinful child of a GQ fashion plate and Food Network magazine cover and Stiles really wishes he’d had his camera still on and ready to photograph this historic moment before Derek gets pissed off again and ruins it. His hand creeps toward his pocket. Slowly, so as not to startle the intractable beast, but Derek must be feeling indulgent, because he doesn’t move except to blink and breathe. 

He gets two shots of the pose before Derek decides he’s done, and Stiles heaves a sigh of relief. Allison and Stiles’ original plan had been to do a series of shots with different dishes and different positions with just Derek, but they’ll have to fall back on plan B, which is to beg their most attractive friends to sit for the photos. Then again, it’s probably better that way. Diversity and whatever.

When he shows Derek out, the guy stops just outside the door.

"Call me if you need more shots," he says, like it had been Stiles’ plan all along to only get one fucking image.

"Uh, how about fuck no," Stiles says, too done with Derek’s fucking attitude to care about Derek’s fucking investment. "I’d rather call Jackson Whittemore and suffer through his titanic ego than photograph you again. So bye, asshole."

Derek bristles, but Stiles slams the door on him before he can so much as open his mouth. And then he very loudly and pointedly engages the locks.

Good fucking riddance. And it’s a shame that he just tanked the restaurant that he and Allison spent nine months creating, but seriously.  _Good fucking riddance_.


	6. Reese's cups are SRS BZNS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to [this gif](http://qhuinn.tumblr.com/post/64626672206/bilesandthesourwolf-apostrophee1), because I can't seem to help myself.

Stiles gapes for a few seconds. His eyes narrow as Derek slowly and smugly chews the Reese’s cup he stole right out of Stiles’ hand.

"You  _didn’t_ ,” he hisses.

Derek lets his mouth hang open as he chews, showing off the half masticated mess of peanut butter and chocolate.

Stiles lunges at him, trapping Derek’s smug head between his hands, and mashes his open mouth to Derek’s, shoving his tongue in to rescue as much of his candy as he can. Derek attempts evasive maneuvers, but Stiles follows relentlessly, shoving him down onto the couch.

It devolves into roughhousing, the two of them rolling around on the cushions as Stiles forcefully licks the inside of Derek’s mouth clean of all traces of Reese’s-y goodness, reclaiming the candy that he bought with money from his first grown-up job’s first paycheck. And then it’s just about kissing, about tasting Derek himself, pinning him to the cushions so Stiles can rut against a muscular thigh.

And after that, well. After that they just have sex. And after Derek pulls out a second package of Reese’s that he’d hidden under the couch, Stiles declares him forgiven and tackles him onto the couch for round two.

Scott never lets them into his apartment again after that.


	7. Do you feel lucky, punk?

Stiles feels the swell of precognition coming long before it actually arrives, but he’s got a day job, something to actually pay his goddamn bills, so that bout of precognitive fugue can just sit the fuck tight until he’s off the clock and safe at home in his jimjammies.

Well, that’s the plan. The reality is that he staggers into his apartment, clutching his head as a migraine splits his skull into sharp fragments, and grabs for the nearest pen and pad of paper, disappearing into the fugue before he even closes his front door. His neighbor is the one to eventually shake him out of it, guiding him to his couch and getting him his meds, a glass of water, and a package of saltines so he doesn’t puke this time.

”Thanks, Allison,” he says weakly, opening his mouth for the tablet of Vicodin she puts on his tongue.

"No problem, Stiles. I just wish you had someone here to take care of you for when I’m out of town. Also that you didn’t get paid pennies on the dollar for these," she says, holding up the pad. There’s a whole bunch of pages written back-to-back, little one-liners just the right size for fortune cookies. "You should really just cave and let me call my mom for you. She’d make sure you got paid properly for the work you do."

"Nnn," Stiles grunts, flopping a hand. “‘s fine."

"It really, really isn’t. I mean, I’m trying to be a good friend and neighbor and not cross any boundaries here, but every time you say it’s ‘fine’, I’m tempted to ignore you and call her anyway."

Stiles glances around at his tiny studio apartment with its cheap, minimalist furniture and the expensive textbooks he’s got piled up on his desk next to the stack of mail that almost certainly contains bills. “Well, ‘s not like I could stop you if you did,” he slurs. “Better to do it while I’m all noodly.”

Allison whips her phone out so fast it’s almost like it materializes straight into her hand. “Lucky for you I’ve got my mom on speed dial. She’ll be here to negotiate you a proper price for these,” she says, waving the notepad. “Now you take a nap and let big sis and big mama handle everything.”

Stiles lets her guide him to lay down and chews gratefully on the saltine she shoves in his mouth.

&&&

'Look to your left to find love.' 

'Don't pick up that dime from the sidewalk.'

'Luck will find you under the cherry blossoms.'

'Give the wrong number a second call.'

They’re mundane-looking little things, Stiles’ fortune cookie fortunes, but in the right hands, 100% accurate. They’re also a helluva lot worth more than the 50 cents per fortune the old cookie company used to give him. 

Stiles knows this, but seeing his new check, the one that Allison’s mom went out of her way to negotiate for him, his eyes bug out.

"And my mom only wants five percent as a consultant’s fee," Allison says excitedly.

"Are you freaking kidding?" Stiles asks incredulously. "She could take fifty percent and the leftovers would still be twice what I usually get! Can I hire her forever?"

"I’ll have Lydia’s boyfriend’s dad draw up a contract," she says, already typing out a text on her phone. "My mom likes you, so she’ll probably agree to keep her fees cheap."

"You’re magical," Stiles says.

Allison winks and detatches a hand from her phone just long enough to pat him on the cheek. “No, Stiles.  _You’re_  magical.”

&&&

Stiles never actually sees what happens to his fortunes. Victoria, and the cookie companies before her, all assure him that they go into cookies which magically end up with the exact people they’re meant for, but Stiles has never seen any of his own fortunes before. Which is kind of surprising, considering how much Chinese takeout he eats. Then again, maybe they don’t sell the cookies to local restaurants? He’ll have to ask Allison to ask her mom. Who still scares him. Even though she technically works for him.

Speaking of, Allison says she’s in negotiations with some company or other that will pay him quadruple per fortune what he’s making now, which is already a shit ton more than he used to make. Stiles deeply regrets not letting Allison call her ages ago.

He wonders who they’ll reach with the new company. Good people, he hopes. People who deserve the little bit of good luck that his fortunes inspire.

Like that guy, the guy eating Chinese out of the carton on a park bench while scowling at the tablet resting on his lap. He looks the definition of stressed out, his suit badly wrinkled and tie dangling sloppily where it’s been tugged loose. His hair looks like an absolute mess too, a huge chunk sticking out weirdly on one side from, oh, when he’s been tugging on it in frustration.

Stiles takes a seat on the bench next to him and pulls out a textbook, watching the guy surreptitiously from under his eyelashes.

He’s hot, Stiles notices, with chiseled features and a nose straight enough to make a ruler weep. Stiles idly wonders if he’s just as hot everywhere else, then mourns the fact that he’ll never be able to find out.

A slice of broccoli slips out from the guy’s chopsticks and bounces off his leg, leaving a shiny smear of sauce that makes the guy cuss. He fishes a handful of napkins out of a paper bag, a wrapped fortune cookie coming out with them, falling unnoticed to the ground as he swipes at the stain, still swearing under his breath.

He never does notice the fortune cookie, not even when he packs up his stuff to go…wherever it is he’ll go. Out of Stiles’ life, definitely. So when he leaves, Stiles rushes over, picks up the poor, neglected cookie, and chases after him, catching up to him under the line of trees bordering the main path.

"Hey!" he calls. "Dude in the suit!"

The guy doesn’t stop, so Stiles jogs faster, catching up just in time to almost crash into him when he trips on a tree root.

"Oh, hey," he says, catching the guy by the arm. "You okay?"

The guy grunts, glances at him, then does a double-take. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.” He turns to go.

"Wait, you forgot this," Stiles says, holding up the fortune cookie. The guy looks at it, then at him like he’s crazy. Stiles feels his confidence wither. "You dropped it. By the bench. Crap, sorry. Never mind."

The guy rolls his eyes, and apparently taking pity on him, plucks the cookie out of his grasp. He even opens it and cracks it open, pulling out the fortune, stuffing half the cookie in his mouth as he reads it.

"What’s it say?" Stiles asks curiously. Who knows, maybe it’s one of his.

The guy frowns at it, looks up at the pink flower buds adorning the tree’s branches, and then looks at Stiles with eyes that suck Stiles straight in. He holds out the fortune and Stiles takes it.

'Luck will find you under the cherry blossoms.'

"Oh," Stiles says. He looks up at the guy, with his frazzled hair and his amazing cheekbones, and thinks that maybe he’ll get to find out what’s under the suit after all. "I’m Stiles."

The guy swallows down his mouthful of cheap fortune cookie. “Derek.”

Stiles smiles, watches the guy’s— _Derek’s_  eyes dip down to his mouth, and makes a mental note to give Victoria a bonus. After all, fortune shared is fortune doubled, right?


	8. Derek Screwed pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing in [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/883881/chapters/1876909) delightful little verse, where Stiles is a were!spider and Derek is weird.
> 
> Warning, as usual, for spiders. Also a mention of gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, in 'Derek Screwed' I mentioned that I have a pet spider that I keep in a cup, and that I catch other spiders to feed to it. Well, I apparently caught either a pregnant spider or a spider of the same specie and opposite sex, because I now have a lot of baby spiders. In a cup.

"And here’s a picture of Stiles’ egg sack. You can see that the threads still a little shiny from how fresh they were. I tried to get a picture of just the egg, but Claudia’s instincts were all over the place. She nearly took my head off a few times," Stiles’ dad laughs. "But it was a hard pregnancy, so I never blamed her for being as protective as she was."

"Oh god," Stiles moans quietly into his palms. Derek smirks as the Sheriff turns the page of the photo album.

"And here’s Stiles’ egg sack, hanging up in our closet. It attracted a lot of smaller spiders for some reason, so we had to move our things into the guest room’s closet. Isn’t it just the cutest thing?"

Derek smiles down at the picture, cooing on cue. The page turns again, and Stiles watches as Derek’s face fades to a sickly grey.

"And there’s our little Stiles, chewing his way out of the sack! Look at him, all bald and shiny and fangy. He was a bout the size of a grapefruit, if you can believe it. And boy, did he like to bite. Good thing his venom didn’t come in until puberty!"

Derek turns wide eyes on Stiles, thinking of all the times his face has been close to Stiles’ venom-injecting teeth. Stiles misses it, his face buried in one of the couch pillows as he tries to smother himself.

"Wait, so if he bites me," Derek asks warily.

The Sheriff scratches his chin. “If he’s in control and the bite doesn’t break the skin, you should be fine. But if you’re having sex and there’s an accident, well, antivenom is your friend.” He slaps Derek companionably on the back and turns the page again. Derek’s jaw sags.

"Oh, here’s Stiles with his first kill. He got a little excited, as you can see, so things got kind of messy."

Derek puts his hand over his mouth, bile rising in his throat. ‘Kind of messy’ is something of a roaring understatement.

Stiles groans and rolls off the couch altogether, wedging himself under the coffee table and bringing his pillow with him. Derek coughs carefully into his palm and nudges at the edge of the album page with his finger. The Sheriff smiles genially down at the picture and takes his time about turning to the next page. Derek's eyes bug out at the next picture.

"Oh, for-" Derek says, hopping up off the couch with a full-body shudder. He has to fight back the instinct to shift and flee, pacing around the living room and breathing slow and deep to get himself back under control. The Sheriff waits patiently for him, smiling fondly down at the picture of baby Stiles, his hairless carapace almost hidden under the hundreds of smaller spiders piled in a heap on him like many-eyed, many-legged autumn leaves.

Derek takes one last steadying breath and lowers himself back onto the sofa next to the Sheriff, voluntarily turning his eyes back onto the picture even as his heart clenches in primordial terror.

"This is from Stiles’ first birthday. He invited all the spiders in the neighborhood, as you can see." Derek whimpers and the Sheriff pats him on the shoulder. "He still attracts the little guys like nobody’s business, but it’s harder to tell now that they can hide in his fur. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it."

"How?" Derek begs.

The Sheriff winks. “Why, with the power of true love and nerves of steel, of course.”

Derek whines. He can already hear Laura and Cora laughing their asses off at him.


	9. A Thousand Paper Cranes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired, in part, by the new 3B teaser. Inspired, in other part, by _Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes_.

Stiles likes folding paper cranes. There’s a kind of calm, meditative state that comes with aligning and creasing, one that helps him not think about the fact that he’s not entirely sure he’s awake even as he’s doing it. 

He gently peels the wings apart, spreading them and opening the back section, gives the beak a few pinches, and tosses it in the pile of completed cranes. There are seven cranes in the pile.

Fifteen minutes ago, there were forty-seven. In his dreams there are nine hundred and ninety-nine, gathered in a flock around him.

He’s not well yet, so he reaches for another sheet of paper, his skin pale and thin as the delicate sheet, and starts folding.

A few nights later, he dreams that he transforms into the thousandth crane, and together they fly into the endless darkness. He has either ninety-two or forty-seven cranes.

He stares through the darkness at his clock and his clock stares 3:26 back at him. He doesn’t know how to fold paper cranes. There are none in his room, none in the trash. There is no ‘how to’ in his bookmarks. There isn’t a single sheet of square paper in the whole house.

At school that day, his fingers fidget and he lets them roam over his desk as he struggles to pay attention to the bland, unremarkable teachers.

"I didn’t know you did origami," Scott says as they file into the hall. He’s holding a paper crane folded from binder paper.

Stiles represses the urge to scream, “Help me,” and shrugs instead.

He has one crane.


	10. Those Who Wait

"No," Stiles says, placing his hand low on Derek’s belly and holding him still. "Slowly."

Derek braces himself against the urge to thrust back, to impale himself on Stiles’ cock and chase that clap of skin on skin that comes from a good, brisk fuck. It’s harder than Stiles knows, because Derek needs it, that fast, quick pace, needs it like air, and every slow roll of Stiles’ hips is like a slow suffocation. What he needs in substance, but not quantity.

"Please."

"Slowly," Stiles repeats. He guides Derek down until he’s laying flat on the bed, Stiles’ cock still deep inside him, the long stretch of Stiles’ body draped over his.

“ _Please_ ,” Derek begs. “I need, I need it. I need more.”

”I know,” Stiles says, smoothing his hands down Derek’s sides. “And I’ll give it to you soon. But not yet, okay? Can you wait just a little for me?”

Derek buries his face into the pillow. He nods.

"Thank you," Stiles says, kissing the outer rim of Derek’s ear. "You’re so good. So soft and warm."

Derek trembles under him from the force of his unfulfilled need. But he says still, hands clenching and relaxing in time with the stuttering squeeze of his ass around Stiles’ cock. He can feel Stiles’ heartbeat against his back, the thud of its sound echoing in his own chest as it levels out.

Derek’s own heart starts to beat faster, sweat beading on his skin as he  _wants_. But Stiles wants him to be still, just for a little while, and Derek can do that. He can control himself. He  _can_.

He can hold still, even though the steady brush of Stiles’ breath makes his skin prickle with pleasure and the thick cock holding his hole wide open exerts a light but steady pressure on his prostate. Derek wants more of that pressure, but he fists his hands into the sheets instead, his own cock twitching helplessly under him.

"You’re doing so good," Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t feel like he’s doing so good. He feels like he’s going out of his damn mind. The pillow under his face smells like Stiles’ jizz. The whole bed does, what with how often Stiles jerks off, but the scent on the pillow is thick, like Stiles jerked off and then wiped his come-streaked hand all over it. The potency of the scent makes Derek’s head spin and his cock spit pre-come.

"So good," Stiles says. He runs his hands up and down the lengths of Derek’s arms, fingers flowing along the contours of bone and muscle. His hands are as huge as ever, the long fingers easily circling Derek’s wrists and overlapping themselves. Derek hasn’t often felt small since growing into his frame, and usually only when someone is making him feel that way to hurt him, but Stiles’ hands on him make him feel small the way his mother made him feel small when she held him. They make him feel bundled up and safe.

At least, until they slip around, squeezing between Derek’s chest and the bed to settle callused fingertips against his nipples.

"Please!"

"Shhh," Stiles says, and starts rubbing Derek’s nipples with the faintest hint of circular motion. There’s no friction, just a sense of pressure and movement, and Derek sobs into the pillow, his cock throbbing against his belly.

"I can’t-"

"It’s okay. Soon, I promise."

Derek’s not sure he can hold out until ‘soon’. He feels wound tight, like a string that’s been wound in one direction to the point of knotting in on itself. And that’s not even counting the physical sensations Stiles is inflicting on him.

He tenses against the bed, struggling against himself to hold still and endure. Stiles’ heartbeat flutters when Derek tightens around him.

"Almost there, Derek. Just a little longer."

What the hell is he even waiting for? Is he waiting for Derek to explode into messy smithereens? Because Derek feels about ready to blow, the tension of self-restraint and rolling boil of anticipation scraping along the inside of his skin like the delicate rasp of a well-sharpened straight razor.

His whole body feels like a freshly poured carbonated soda, energy fizzing and bubbling inside him. His cock jumps and leaks and if he gets any more wound up he’s going to get a charley horse. The fingers against his nipples press a little harder and he moans as the sensation zings straight to his groin, where he can feel the pressure building like a dam on the verge of bursting.

"You ready?" Stiles asks.

Derek barely hears him, too caught up in the tide of anticipation to make much more than a high, nasal sound.

"So good," Stiles says, and slowly draws out until the head of his cock is only just holding it’s place against Derek’s twitching pucker.

"So good," he says, and slams his cock home on one brutal thrust.

It’s like a match on dynamite. Or more accurately, a detonator in C4. The anticipation explodes into a flash inferno of pressurized pleasure and Derek thrashes and shakes and comes harder than he has in a long time, if ever. Stiles rides him through it, slamming his cock in and out as Derek comes until he’s just a shivering lump on the mattress, keening at the aftershocks of Stiles’ cock nudging along his prostate.

Derek is almost insensate when Stiles finally comes, burying himself deep and shuddering as he fills Derek’s passage with his come. He doesn’t draw out afterwards and his cock slowly softens, still held in the clutch of Derek’s body.

"See?" Stiles says to Derek, who can’t muster a response. "Good things come to those who wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Interestingly, this particular experiment in writing was a resounding failure. I didn't achieve what I set out to do _at all._ Better luck next time, I guess.)


	11. Man Behind the Curtain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't trust Deaton.

Stiles turns the chair around and straddles it, looking Deaton in the eye.

”I’ve been thinking about fire a lot, y’know? Mostly because I wanna burn down that fucking tree stump that’s making me go insane, but also because of Peter and his endless misdirection and lies of omission. He’s up to something, I know it. Too bad we didn’t cremate him when we had the chance, right?

"Whoops. Forgot. Hard to voice your enthusiastic agreement when you’ve been gagged. I’d say sorry, but I’m not. I’ve heard enough of your own misdirection and lies of omission for one lifetime, thanks.

"So where was I? Oh yeah. Fire.

"So I’ve been thinking about fire lately, especially about the fire that Kate used to murder Derek’s family. I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking and there’s just a bunch of shit that doesn’t add up, you know? Like, how did a whole pack of werewolves not notice a bunch of noisy humans spreading accelerant around their house, huh? Like, what was up with that? Scott can hear my car from half a mile away  _while he’s asleep_. I haven’t been able to sneak up on him since he was still a noob at werewolfing.

"And I’ve been thinking, and I’ve thought about it, and hey, there’s something else that makes no fucking sense. Like, when they found out that their house was on fire, why didn’t they just kick the door down or bust the windows out? I mean, if you can heal a broken bone in seconds, I’m pretty sure jumping out a second story window isn’t a huge deal. What the hell kept them inside a burning house?

"And lessee here. The police report says that most of the bodies were found in the… basement. Why the hell would they decide that the basement was safer than the outdoors, huh? And who the hell helped Kate and her evil minions find _and_ seal off all the tunnels that led out of that basement?

"So I thought about it some more. Just turned it over in my head for a couple of weeks. Over and over and over, thinking about it. Thought about it all night long, when I was too afraid to fall asleep. Thought about it when I was dreaming but thought I was awake. Thought about it when I was awake but thought I was dreaming. Just, y'know, thought about it whenever I had some time to spare.

"But it’s not like I could go back in the past or anything and ask Crazy Aunt Kate, right? So I shelved it for a while. Besides, Scott needed my help to deal with his whole alpha thing when you weren’t there to do your whole Emissary thing.

"By the way, thanks for being so helpful. Like, usually it’s a pain in the ass to get anything useful out of you, but you’ve been really forthcoming on the whole ‘What to Expect When You’re Suddenly Werewolf Jesus’ front.

"But then, that got me thinking too. Because you were Derek’s mom’s Emissary before you were Scott’s Emissary, right? Right. So why weren’t you ever  _Derek’s_ Emissary? When he was flailing around, the newbie alpha, where were you? Like, did you ever help him at all? Did you ever talk to him about how to be a successful alpha even  _once?_

"And then the plan that you came up with for Scott. Which, genius, by the way. Couldn’t’ve come up with something more cunning, myself. You basically had Scott use Derek as a weapon to beat Gerard.

"Well, I say ‘beat’. More like ‘incapacitate’, because the only way to actually beat Gerard would be to kill his wrinkly old ass and burn it to fucking ashes to prevent another Peter incident. I literally have no fucking clue what Allison and her dad are thinking, leaving that ancient bastard alive.

"Crap, way to get off topic again. Where was I? Oh yeah. Your plan to use Derek’s body as a weapon.

"Huh, sounds familiar. Oh yeah, because the frigging  _Alpha Pack_  did the same thing, didn’t they. Except they used his body to kill one of his own betas. Which, thanks so much for all the super helpful advice you gave us on how to protect ourselves from them. I'm sure Derek appreciated your advice so very much.

"Oh wait, that was sarcasm, in case you missed it. Because I could’ve taken a shit and it would’ve been more helpful than you were.

"But all’s well that ends well, right? Ding dong the witch is dead, but meanwhile Deucalion gets his eyesight restored and is left to fly free like a bird. Also, the very twins that forced Derek to kill Boyd are sucking up to Scott, who you’ve been pushing to become Werewolf Jesus.

"Excuse me, the ‘True Alpha’. And now you’re suddenly Mr. Super Emissary, holding Scott’s hand through everything where you couldn’t have cared less when Derek was going through his own problems.

"So I've been thinking about all that. Trying to put the pieces together in a way that makes some fucking _sense_. And I realized that all this shit has played out because you’re not really loyal to the Hales, are you? Were you ever? Did you feel any remorse at all when you put a ring of mountain ash around their house so they’d hold still long enough for Kate to burn them alive?

"How about a few years before that, when you called up the Argents to tell them that a bunch of packs were going to be meeting in Beacon Hills to ask for Talia Hale’s advice?

"Yeah, I know about that. I know about  _everything_. You said I had to believe, right? So I did. And you know, belief is actually a pretty cool superpower, once you figure out how to use it. All I had to do was believe that your sister would spill all the beans and, hey, whaddaya know? She did.

"Of course, she thought she was just offering advice. Although, y’know, it kinda _was_  advice. To the tune of, ‘Don’t trust Deaton because he’ll stab you in the back,’ but whatever works, right? By the way, your sister's not coming to your rescue, so don't hold your breath.

"So yeah. That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. Fire, betrayal, et cetera. But what I haven’t figured out yet is  _why_. Why would you go to those lengths? Why, why, why, why,  _why?_

"I mean, I know it has something to do with that stupid fucking tree. You manipulated us into reviving it for a reason, so I know it’s important, I just don’t know  _why_.

"I guess I could just ask you what you want with it. That’d be a fucking snap. Belief really is a powerful thing. But then…

"But then, I could just ‘incapacitate’ you. Make it so you’ll never get whatever it is you’ve been working your way towards. Whatever it is you want so bad you'd kill en masse for.

"Shut up. Shut UP! Scott was an idiot to trust you, especially when you’d set yourself up as his fucking  _father figure_. You know what happened to Scott’s actual dad? He fucking  _left_. Because he was an asshole and a jerk and Scott and his mom deserved better, so they kicked him the fuck out.

"So this is me, kicking you the fuck out.

"For good.

_Stiles, this isn’t you!_

"No, Scott. This is me, doing what I have to do to protect the people important to me. This has always been me."

Stiles picks up the bone saw. It feels just as heavy in his hand as it always has. Deaton struggles, handcuffs clinking, and Stiles revs the saw, his heartbeat accelerating. He licks his chapped lips and tastes the blood crusted at the corner of his mouth.

"This has always been me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, disappointed with this one.


	12. Mermaids, or Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous wanted: Female!Derek, like either always-a-girl!Derek or he pissed off a witch and gets turned into a female with established Sterek and sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ranma 1/2 crossover
> 
> Water from the Spring of the Drowned Girl curses you to turn into a girl when splashed with cold water and back into your normal shape when splashed with hot water.

Derek looks at the three Chinese characters, then at the pronunciation written below them:  _Niángnìquán._  Lydia’s accent had been flawless, the words rolling off her tongue with a kind of native ease, but more interesting to Derek is the translation below.

_Spring of the Drowned Girl_

Deaton had called it an "incurable curse" and Lydia had called it “interesting”, but Derek looks at the new softness of his jaw and brow and chest and thinks " _opportunity"_.

&&&

Stiles feels the prickle of interested eyes, first. It’s not unheard of, now that he’s filled out a little at college, but it’s still rare enough that he forcefully clamps down on the urge to immediately pinpoint its source. Instead, he leans forward on his barstool and tips back the rest of his rum and coke, placing the empty tumbler on the bar and nudging it toward the bartender. Then he waits.

And waits. He’s about ready to give up, to order himself another drink or just leave altogether when the bartender places another rum and coke in front of him. A subtle whisper of will into the liquid shows no poisons or drugs.

"Courtesy of the lady," he says, nodding at someone a few stools down. Stiles has to wait for a pack of middle aged women to clear out of the way before he can actually get a good look though, and when he does he’s suddenly wary. The woman staring back is way too hot to be angling for a lanky, awkward guy like him.

She’s gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that beats you over the head and leaves you stunned, and seemingly confident in her welcome. She tips her drink at him. He tips his back and fakes a sip.

She slinks closer and slides onto the stool next to him, leaning into his space with aggressive interest. Stiles inches away, uneasy, and wonders if this is how women feel.

And then she smiles, broad and toothy, and says, “Hi.”

 _Deja vu_ , Stiles thinks, remembering when he’d watched Derek use that very same technique on his dad’s deputy.

"Hey," he says tentatively. 

"So, um, I’m new here in town," she says, voice higher and lighter than he’d expected from a face with eyebrows like hers. "I thought I’d have a drink to unwind, but I wasn’t expecting…"

She trails off and Stiles blinks twice very hard. What even are the odds that a woman who looks like she could be Derek’s twin sister uses almost the exact same pickup lines as Derek?

The awkward pause gets awkwarder. The woman’s broad smile slips at the edges. Crap.

"Um," Stiles says. He both does and does not want to have sex with this woman, because she’s hot as hell but also because Stiles suspects he'd like to get to know the person that she is when she isn’t trying to force herself to flirt. "You wanna get something to eat?" he tries.

The woman blinks, startled, and then her smile relaxes into something a lot more natural and way more attractive. “Yeah,” she says with a gust of air like a sigh of relief.

"Stiles," Stiles says, finally turning on his stool to face her. He holds out his hand.

She takes it and gives it a firm shake. “Deryn.”

They head to a diner near by, where the only things greasier than the spoons are the fries. Still, Stiles can’t regret a single minute of it. Deryn isn’t charming, but she’s got this dry, sassy wit and an edge to her grins. She seems almost unnaturally interested in him, but when Stiles tests her aura, there’s no malice in it, just a lot of genuine desire.

Stiles blinks in surprise, trailing off mid-sentence to stare at the shifting currents of her aura.

"Stiles?" she asks. 

"Uh! Sorry, I was just thinking that you seem really nice…" Stiles hedges.

Deryn’s expression begins to close in on itself, like she’s steeling herself for the brush off. “But…?”

Stiles mentally kicks himself for being a dumbass and scrambles to recover lost ground. “But I really want to have sex with you right now!” he says, louder than he’d intended.

Deryn’s eyes go wide and dark, a flush rising into her cheeks and ears. “Oh.”

Stiles glances around at the rest of the diner, painfully conscious of the stares they’re getting, though a group of frat dudebros in the adjacent booth is giving him thumbs up. “If that’s okay with you,” he mumbles.

She darts up, banging her knee on the underside of the booth’s table. “YES,” she says, dropping back down to clutch her knee. “Shit. Sorry.”

Stiles smiles helplessly and fishes his wallet out, dropping enough cash to more than cover their meals. Their waitress is going to have a huge tip, but Stiles is in too good a mood to care. “Your place or mine?”

"Yours," she squeaks. She coughs, and repeats in a smoother voice, "Yours." And god, she’s just so freaking adorable that the minute they get out onto the street he sweeps her into his arms and kisses her.

&&&

Her hands explore his naked body like she wants to make a scale model of it in clay, measuring the span of his chest and the valleys that angle down to his groin. She seems obsessed with his cock, fondling it and stroking it. The first touch of her mouth to its tip is tentative, her tongue circling a little clumsily around the flare of the head, but it’s hot enough to make Stiles scratch at the sheets, searching for a handhold. 

Her aura flows over his, woodsy and supple and wanting. Stiles feels it like a physical touch, a broad brush painting calligraphy on the very essence of his being. It’s shockingly intimate and nothing Stiles has ever experienced with any of his previous bed partners.

"Der-Deryn," he gasps as she sucks his cock into her mouth. Her head bobs, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as she learns her limits. "Fuck, your mouth is so good."

She pulls off, replacing her mouth with her hands. “Don’t lie. I’m crap at this.”

Her thumbnail scrapes over his frenulum and he jerks into her grip, hissing at the brief flash of pain that resolves into pleasure. “W-well you better get a lot more crappy at it or I’m going to come in like, two seconds!”

Her hands still, squeezing around the base and pulling his balls away from his body. “Seriously? You’re that quick?”

Stiles slaps his hands over his face. “When someone has been fondling my body for a freaking age before even getting to my cock,  _yes_ , I am that quick, okay? Are you seriously shaming me for my body being sensitive?”

Deryn withdraws her hands. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean-“

Stiles sighs explosively. “Oh my god, just get up here and put your face on mine already.”

She hesitates, so he hauls her bodily up against him, swallowing her gasp right out of her mouth. She tastes like boysenberry syrup and shivers deliciously when he squeezes her amazing ass, the pert cheeks filling his hands to overflowing.

“Holy god, I need to go down on you like, yesterday,” he says to her lower lip.

“Yes,” she says flatly. She grabs him by the shoulders and rolls them so Stiles is pressing her into the mattress. “Do that. Now.”

“As my lady commands,” he says cheekily, kissing and sucking his way down her modest chest and muscled belly to the dense thatch of black curls. They’re already damp with how wet she is, the curls clumping and clinging as he spreads her open.

“Fuck,” she grunts at the first touch of his tongue. Her fingers scratch through his hair – not gripping, just scratching – and Stiles settles in, determined to make her come at least once with just his mouth and hands.

He makes her come three times, amazingly. She’s sensitive as hell and always eager for it, even when the sensations threaten to overwhelm her, and each time she comes she gets less restrained. She thrashes so hard the third time that he has to pin her thighs just to keep from getting kicked as he eases her through it. Her hands grip his hair when he pulls away, trying to lead him back for more of the same, but his face is aching and sore. His lips are almost too numb to kiss her and she laughs when he rubs his slack mouth against hers.

They make out while Stiles’ face recovers. He can’t resist slipping two fingers into her as they kiss, easy and sweet, and she grinds her clit against the heel of his palm, already ready for more.

She reaches for his cock, but he deflects her hands up to his chest instead, saying, “Yeah, no, not gonna last.”

“Maybe we could save the fucking for round two,” she suggests, flicking and rubbing his nipples. Stiles pants at the buzz of pleasure.

“I like that plan. Though I should probably break your hymen now so that it doesn’t hurt later.”

Deryn stills. “Wait, what? What hymen?”

Stiles slides his fingers out a little, the tips pressing up against the thin, crescent-shaped membrane that blocks a good third of her vaginal opening. Deryn twitches in discomfort as he applies gentle pressure, which is why he’d been avoiding it. “That hymen.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she says.

“It’ll hurt.”

“It’ll hurt whether you do it now or later, so you might as well get it over with.”

Stiles sighs. “Your casual attitude towards pain worries me. Ready?”

Deryn rolls her eyes. “Sometime this year, please.”

Stiles presses four fingers together and forces them in before he wimps out. Deryn grunts. In the end, it’s sort of anticlimactic. He cleans the blood off his fingers and gently wipes down her opening until she gets bored, rolls them over, and sucks and jerks on his cock until he comes all over himself.

&&&

Stiles watches Deryn, her hair dripping and clinging to her bare chest and back as she paws through his drawers, unabashedly naked. He’d offered to share her shower but she’d turned him down.

“I just like to be alone when I shower,” she’d said defensively.

Stiles had put his hands up in surrender. “It’s fine. I get that. Private time and all. Or maybe you’re secretly a mermaid.”

Deryn blinked at him, confused.

“You know, the story where the guy’s wife insists on bathing alone, and when he peeps on her he sees that she’s a mermaid and uses bathtime to transform. Or, I think that’s how it goes. It's been a while. So, are you secretly a mermaid?” he said teasingly.

She raised her eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She walked into his bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her, and Stiles went to clean up in the kitchen sink.

And now, watching her pull on just an old pajama tee of his that comes halfway down her thighs, he can’t help thinking about what it would be like to have this every day. That way lies madness though, so he pushes the thought aside. He circles around behind her, snagging the towel she’d dropped, and starts drying her hair for her, squeezing and gently rubbing with the towel. She sighs and holds still for him, even as goosebumps rise on her arms and legs from the chill in the room. He brushes and braids the thick, dark mass.

By the time he finishes, Deryn is yawning into her hand every few minutes, so Stiles pulls her under the covers, pressing her cold feet between his warm calves.

“Fuck me,” she says. “Just like this.”

So Stiles does, rubbing against her ass and between her thighs until he gets hard again. He pulls away just far enough to roll a condom on and lifts her leg to hook over his as he pushes in. She’s tight, fuck,  _so_  tight, but arches into him so sweetly. She comes on his fingers and cock, barely sweating from the languid pace they’d set, and Stiles follows her over, then down into sleep.

&&&

Stiles is alone when he wakes up, no sign that Deryn was ever there except for the bloody tissue, a used condom, and a pot of still-hot coffee she’d put on on her way out. He pours himself a mug and sips it, staring at his phone.

 _Hey, you busy?_  he texts to Derek.

His phone buzzes almost instantly with an answer.  _No. Why?_

_We haven’t hung out in a while. Thought we could go out, catch a movie, get lunch, etc._

Derek’s reply comes twenty minute later.  _Ok._

Stiles grins. He wonders if Derek’s cock is just as sensitive as his clit had been.


	13. the sheriff/ennis not-fic you never wanted to read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I blame [greenbergsays](http://greenbergsays.tumblr.com/).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is actually the marginally cleaned up transcript of a series of messages that i dumped in [shipsanddip](http://shipsanddip.tumblr.com/)'s skype chat when she wasn't paying attention to her phone/computer. that's why it's a hot fucking mess. not sorry not sorry.

sheriff/ennis

i ship it

sometimes i think about a sheriff/ennis story, starting way back when during that flashback

i’m not usually a fan of the predestined mates trope, but fuck, it’s a convenient device

like, sheriff puts his fingers on ennis’ chest to gently hold him back and BAM, ennis is like, ‘jesus fuck are you fucking serious’

because this is _the guy_ , the one person that ennis’ instincts click with the way he and kali never quite seem to

except ennis can smell the wife and kid on him even without seeing the worn gold band around his finger

but then ennis goes about the rest of his business, putting off thinking about what to do about this guy who is _the one_ but who is also _not available_ while the packs sort out their shit with talia hale’s help

blah blah deucalion gets blinded, kills his betas, starts recruiting for the alpha pack

ennis thinks about it, but then he thinks about sheriff and he’s like, ‘no thanks, i’ll pass’

and kali sides with him, so neither of them end up in deuc’s pack

but kali is like, ‘bb what’s going on?’

and ennis is like, ‘um, about you and i….’ and he tells kali about sheriff being _the gu_ _y_

except kali does not take the news well _at all_. she just turned down deucalion’s vision (of whatever his vision was. did we ever even find out what his long-term plans were? fucking jeff davis, man. erica and boyd killed for literally no goddamn reason.) to stay with him and suddenly he doesn’t want her

blah blah, she gets crazy pissed off and says that ennis can’t have the human anyway because he’s already got a family

and ennis doesn’t care, he’ll just stick around and sniff the guy from afar, w/e, sheriffing is a dangerous job and he’s sure they could always use another deputy

she tries to persuade him one last time, saying that talia won’t share her territory w/ his pack, so he gives his pack to her and tells her to care for them like he cared for them

and then he goes to talia and begs to let him stay

jfc this is really dumb

it’s like a romance novel or sth

totally ooc

this is why i don’t like predestined mates, b/c they take away all free fucking will

and you know how i feel about freedom

haha did you hear that knock knock joke about freedom

why aren’t there any knock knock jokes about freedom? because freedom _rings_

hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

anyway, so ennis decides to stick around, resigns from his previous job of underwater basket weaving and becomes a deputy

he also makes friends with stiles, who is at the station all the time, and later becomes stiles’ go-to babysitter because his alpha werewolf stamina helps him keep up with the six year-old

and basically he becomes a satellite of the stilinski family, pining for sheriff from not-quite-afar

not that claudia fails to notice

but since ennis goes out of his way to not get between claudia and her husband, she doesn’t say or do anything about it

except then…..

she get sick

and she knows that it’s sort of cruel of her to drag ennis into this and basically set him up as the stable thing for stiles and sheriff to rely on when she’s dead, but it’s not like he’s not willing, right

because she knows she’s gonna buy it, can feel the life draining out of her day by day, feel herself getting weaker and, heh, slipping away, even though everyone else is rallying for her survival, picking fights with the doctors who say that her prognosis is really bad

so she hands over boys to ennis, tells him to take care of them or she’ll haunt his sorry ass, and to keep them happy and protect them no matter what it takes

rip mama stilinski, you hbic

and basically ennis parents the remaining stilinskis, getting them fed, driving them to wherever, offering comfort and hugs and a shoulder to cry on, etc, because he cares about them but he also cared about claudia too, who always included him in things

so ennis becomes a sort of honorary uncle to stiles and helpmate to sheriff, who comes to rely on him more and more until they’re basically platonic life partners

which is weird for ennis, since he still jerks it to thoughts of sheriff

aaaaaanyway, fast forward a few years, because ennis would totally recognize kate while he was on patrol and tell talia that she was in town and probably looking to stir up trouble

HAHA NO DEAD HALES

and then skip even further forward, as stiles grows up and makes a callous remark about ennis’ feelings toward sheriff because he’s tactless but not unobservant

and suddenly sheriff is like, ‘oh fuck, awkward’, because he’s not unobservant either, he’d just been ignoring it

and ennis is like, ‘shiiiiiit’

omg though of all the characters i wish we’d seen shirtless during 3a, ennis tops the list

sorry derek, but ennis is just more muscly than you are

yum

and that moment is sort of the catalyst that moves sheriff and ennis’ relationship forward, b/c sheriff recognizes that he’s sort of being unfair to ennis by taking advantage of his feelings

but at the same time, ennis doesn’t want sheriff to feel obligated to do something for him just b/c ennis’ stupid feelings won’t go away

and then stiles is caught in the middle of this b/c he basically considers ennis to be part of the family, and though he absolutely doesn’t want to think about his dad having sex, he’s surprisingly okay with his dad being in an actual relationship w/ ennis

like, he doesn’t even consider it to be his dad cheating on his mom, because his mom clearly wanted ennis to be part of the family, and she definitely would’ve wanted sheriff to be happy, and ennis does make his dad happy, but stiles doesn’t know if it’s a friend-type happy or significant other-type happy

so basically that’s the big question: everyone knows about ennis’ feelings, but what are sheriff’s feelings

and sheriff, y’know, isn’t completely platonic. he’s got urges and hasn’t had sex in eight or so years, and ennis is attractive in his own (very muscular) way

but attraction does not a relationship make, so sheriff has to look deeeeper. listen to your heart, can you hear it sing, telling me to give you eeeeverythiiiiing~

seasons may change, winter to spring

ugh, no moulin rouge au, thx. major chara death is big squick

unless it comes at the end of 60 years of happy marriage and quietly during their sleep

and then the other just sort of gives up and quietly arranges their affairs while they wait to join their forever boo in the afterlife

like, i can get behind that kind of chara death, but only if it’s simultaneously fluffy as all hell

with lots of babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies and maybe even great-great-grandbabies

so ennis decides to give sheriff space as he thinks, taking shifts opposite sheriff’s so that they’re not cooped up in the department or the house at the same time

but sheriff surprises himself by missing him, missing watching stiles verbally steamroll ennis in the mornings before ennis has had his cups of coffee and a decently-sized breakfast

and he also misses ennis’ peculiar brand of observation, which involves his weirdly acute senses of scent and hearing

he misses conversations w/ ennis during the jogs ennis makes him go on to keep him healthy, and also their companionable bitching when stiles makes them eat vegetarian

but he also realizes that what he misses most is ennis’ unwavering focus on him, and he’s not going to take advantage of ennis just because he’s greedy for the man’s attention

because that would be leading the poor guy on

then again, isn’t that what he’s already been doing? leading the poor guy on and letting him hope that someday sheriff’ll fall magically in love with him?

anyway, deuc and kali should come back to town, because kali joined up with him out of bitterness after ennis rejected her

and she killed ennis’ pack to do it, which infuriates ennis, who confronts her

but ennis is packless, and kali kicks his ass easily

she torments him, saying how soft and weak he’s gotten, hiding in talia’s territory and playing house with a man who would never have loved him the way kali could have, before he rejected her

and basically she acts like a sociopath, because i’m pretty sure that the power rush from killing their betas was what turned them into maniacs instead of the other way around

and btw, there were never any consequences from derek killing boyd

did derek get a power boost from it?

his eyes didn’t do that weird thing, so i assumed it was that he needed to kill the whole pack

but man, 3a made no fucking sense

such a disappointment

i was super looking forward to it, but now i’m not so much looking forward to 3b

aaaanyway, so somehow sheriff stumbles across them, looking for his wayward deputy, and that’s how he finds out about werewolves

surprise

so anyway, sheriff finds out about werewolves in a very abrupt way

and hey, maybe kali is pulling that pipe trick on ennis while deuc does his little monologue gig

and sheriff takes exception to that and shoots her

like, without even thinking, he just whips his gun out and shoots her because she’s _killing him_

i’m just gonna keep talking to myself

about how kali brushes off the gunshot, picking the bullet out of her chest and flicking it away because it was just a mundane bullet

she’s not impressed by him, and tries to take him down, but ennis is there, tackling her to the ground and digging his claws in, raking them across her throat while he briefly has the upper hand

and he only realizes what he’s done afterward, as he pulls his fingers out of her throat and looks up at sheriff

ennis finds himself terrified, kneeling over the body of his ex-lover and staring up at the man who’s _the one_ , kali’s power flooding into him and making his eyes glow bright red

but sheriff isn’t even looking at him, he’s looking past him at deuc, who has gone very very quiet

ennis finds out a second later when deuc grabs him by the nape of his neck and lifts him into the air, ripping the pipe out of him in one brutal movement and throwing him to the side

sheriff shoots him until his clip runs dry, but he shrugs off the bullets, all grey, monstrous menace

and ennis isn’t sure he stands a chance, but he puts up a fight anyway, getting the shit kicked out of him while leading him away from sheriff, dragging himself away when his legs fail him

and it’s not like sheriff is just standing there

no, he ran and got the high powered rifle with those special custom bullets chris argent so generously sold him on discount

while deuc is standing over a defeated but not quite dead ennis, reveling in his victory, sheriff puts a bullet in his brain

wolfsbane, not that sheriff knows it

deuc collapses like a puppet with its strings snipped, and sheriff circles around to double-tap, putting a second bullet in with the first, because that’s just responsible head-shotting

and okay, sheriff just took down tHE DEMON WOOOOOOLF *insert dramatic lightning and cracking sunglasses*

with a rifle and two bullets

and he didn’t even think twice, just put deuc down like a mad dog

because he saw ennis, saw what deuc and kali were doing to him, and went to a cold, angry place, forgetting his police training altogether in favor of protecting ennis

because seeing ennis get hurt made him furious like nothing else because ennis is _his_

ennis belongs to him, belongs to the stilinskis, and anyone who comes to take him can answer to the business end of sheriff’s rifle

and looking at ennis, who’s laying on the ground next to deuc’s very dead body and staring at sheriff like he’s seen the holy spirit or something

it makes sheriff hard like _that_

and that’s so inappropriate, lusting after a guy who’s still bleeding and in pain, but stiles didn’t get his weirdness from claudia

and so, there’s _an_ answer to the question of sheriff’s feelings for ennis

and yeah, ennis heals slower than usual, but still fast enough that by the time they get home, he’s back in one unblemished piece

and sheriff has to see, has to make sure

and hell, far be it from ennis to say no to sheriff stripping him down in the bathroom and running his hands all over ennis’ body, checking for damage with firm, proprietary touches

and then they have ‘we survived’ sex

and because i have a condition in which stilinskis have to top the hell out of their sexual partners, sheriff fucks ennis through the mattress

and then he tucks ennis in, all nice and cozy, and lets him rest while he goes and has a panic attack in stiles’ bathroom

because all he wants is to get back in bed with ennis, snuggle up to his bulk, and wake up in the morning to a stubbly kiss and maybe some morning sex, hushed so stiles won’t hear

it’s shocking how much he wants that

so sheriff makes it back to bed and slides in next to ennis, who is down for the count but still instinctively moves toward sheriff like he always has, for as long as sheriff can remember

and sheriff opens his arms and pulls him close (or as well as he can, because ennis is still a really heavy dude), pressing his mouth to ennis’ forehead in what might be a kiss

and he just lays there for a long time, staring out into the darkness and listening to ennis’ steady breathing and the night sounds of the house

and when he wakes up the next morning, he’s alone, ennis gone from his bed and house like he was never there

and y’know, after all the violence and the glowing eyes and the disappearing eyebrows, sheriff is hard pressed to believe the whole thing wasn’t a crazy nightmarish dream

but his hands still smell like blood and gunpowder

and idk, what else

we need some stiles

stiles makes everything better

stiles who didn’t wake up early so much as stay up all night and watch ennis flee from sheriff’s bedroom in like he’d got word his apartment was burning down

stiles who connects the dots and puts out real cream cheese for sheriff to put on his bagel instead of that shitty no-fat crap

so when sheriff comes down, there’s stiles, on his phone while eating breakfast, and he just says, ‘morning’

and sheriff thinks he’s dodged a bullet until he sits down with his bagel and stiles says, ‘so, ennis sure ran out of here in a hurry’

because he did pull an all-nighter and they weren’t exactly quiet, but that’s what headphones are for

and sheriff just feels like a total heel

and stiles keeps talking, like, ‘he had that look on his face, that upset one he doesn’t like us seeing’

'dad, i don't like seeing that face'

'i like it about as much as i liked seeing mom's sad face'

and sheriff is just sitting there staring down at his bagel, appetite gone

'so y'know, if you wanted my blessing or whatever, you have it. not that you thought to ask before having sex with him, but whatever, i'm trying not to think about that because gross.'

and sheriff just kinda wants the floor to rise up and eat him, he’s feeling so awkward

though it is comforting to know that he has stiles’ complete approval

though he wonders if maybe stiles would be more reluctant if he knew about the werewolf thing

then again, he’d probably be less reluctant, knowing him

just like his dad, always running toward danger

'so, uh,' stiles says, 'you should probably make your feelings clear before he decides to, whatever, do something stupid, i don't know.'

and sheriff puts his head in his hands and says, ‘i don’t know how i feel’

and stiles is like, ‘seriously? he’s been in love with you since literally forever—’

‘ _he_ has been in love with me. _i_ thought of us as friends until just recently. so yes, i seriously don’t know how i feel, and i’m not going to disrespect his feelings by claiming to feel more than i do.’

and stiles is completely incredulous, ‘oh my god, dad, you _killed_ someone last night to protect him. you killed _deucalion_ ’

'what.' the sheriff says, staring at stiles. 'how did you know about that?'

'derek told me. his mom and uncle went out to investigate when they couldn't sense deucalion anymore and found him 9000% dead with yours and ennis' scents all over everything'

'wait, are the hales werewolves too? also, since when were you in contact with derek hale?'

'wait, you didn't know the hales were werewolves?'

'i literally found out last night, when i found ennis being attacked by two strangers, one of whom i shot in the head. oh my god, i killed someone in cold blood'

'maybe less 'cold' than 'hot'. besides, he was assaulting a police officer.'

'and all his wounds healed by the time i got him here, so it's not like i can use that defense in a court of law or anything,' sheriff says wryly. 'jesus, i killed someone and i don't even regret it.'

stiles flaps a hand. ‘you shouldn’t. deucalion and his pack were all egomaniacal lunatics bent on wreaking god-knows-what kind of mayhem.’

'oh gee thanks, son. that makes me feel so much better about committing murder.'

stiles shrugs. ‘ennis did too, according to what derek said.’

and sheriff remembers, remembers watching ennis leap onto the woman’s back and rake his claws over her throat, blood spraying out in a high-pressured mist. a good portion of the blood on the uniform he was wearing last night is probably hers.

but after seeing what she’d been doing to him, holding him down with that pipe stabbed clear through him, sheriff feels little remorse for her, either

'so uh, what are you going to do now?' stiles asks

'well first, i'm going to eat this bagel before you confiscate it. then i'm going to shower and get dressed. after that, i'm going to have a chat with the hales about how the hell you found out about werewolves before i did, and ask derek _personally_ what kind of ‘contact’ you two have been having-‘

'hey, at least we're using condoms!' stiles yelps. he immediately regrets his lapse of filter when the sheriff's eyes narrow.

'wait,' stiles says, abruptly concerned, 'you and ennis were being safe too, right?'

and stiles has him there, (minus the whole statutory rape issue), because sheriff hasn’t bought condoms in years, not since claudia went back on the pill after stiles’ birth

and the thought of his own come deep inside ennis sends a shiver that fans lightly across the breadth of his shoulders

'oh my god, i so regret asking,' stiles says, bringing his fist to his mouth like he's forcing down bile

'then stop being such a nosy parker,' the sheriff bitches, and takes a big bite out of his cream cheesy bagel

and that’s basically the end of that conversation, as far as either of the stilinskis are concerned, so sheriff goes about his morning

talia is waiting for him when he gets to the hale house. so is derek, who gets the ‘i’ve got my eye on you, asshole’ cop glare. the boy wilts and scuttles away guiltily, like the squirrely little perp he is. sheriff will be having words with him later

but when he tells his side of the story, she’s surprised. she could’ve sworn sheriff already knew all about werewolves, since he and ennis were in a long-term relationship

and wow, sheriff is surprised to realize that the only person in all of beacon hills to think he’s not in a relationship with ennis are himself and ennis and (maybe) stiles. not that the rumor mill is to be trusted, but even the wildest rumors are based in a tiny grain of truth

so she lays it out for him, answers all his questions, tells him about chris argent and the special rifle rounds sheriff so fortuitously used, and she tells him about ennis too, about where he came from and a rough outline of why he came to bh in the first place, though she pointedly refuses to tell him why ennis stayed instead of leaving with his pack

and sheriff walks out of there, world turned completely on its axis, like a filter has been laid over his vision, or maybe the scales removed from his eyes instead

and as he reverses out of the hales’ driveway, talia waving as derek peeks out at him from between his bedroom curtains, he thinks the house looks absolutely nothing like the one he pulled up to a good few hours ago

and then it’s away to ennis’ apartment, because he’s a responsible adult and member of the community and has a badge to prove it

he chickens out a few blocks away though, stopping at the park and sitting on a bench while he tries to figure out his life

except he keeps coming back to the fact that the only thing that actually needs figuring out is the same thing that he’s been needing to figure out all along: what kind of love does he feel for ennis? friendship or romantic love?

and he’s not very good at figuring that out, never has been

he and claudia literally grew up together and were friends for years and years before she finally got fed up and demanded that they go out on a date as a _couple_

and after that, the rest was hist-

aw, fuck

it turns out, the quesition wasn’t so much ‘do i love him or do i friend him?’ as ‘how long have i been so far gone on him?’ because he’s been imagining ennis as an integral part of his present and future since ages and ages ago

he even doesn’t complain when ennis makes him do _cardi_ _o_ , of course he’s in love with the man. it’s just that the lust came after the love, just like what happened with claudia

christ, he’s an idiot. he should just turn in his badge right now. take early retirement before he gets any more senile

so he gets up off that bench, gets back in his car, and drives the rest of the way to ennis’ apartment

and it’s funny, he barely knows where it is, even after knowing ennis as long as he has and spending so much time around him, because the man basically lives with the stilinskis already, and only ever goes back to his apartment to sleep, shower, and change clothes. sometimes not even that, if he and sheriff are working on a big case and ennis sleeps over in the guest bedroom

and ennis timidly opens his door, looking less like a wolf and more like a mouse, eyes never quite meeting sheriff’s

so sheriff gently guides ennis’ face down to his and kisses him hello, nothing more than a soft brush of lips, all affection and fond warmth

'hey,' he says, 'we missed you this morning'

and ennis looks so confused and also so hopeful but also so terrified that sheriff just has to drag him down for another kiss. this one is bold, wet and slick and open with heated intent. a declaration

and ennis makes this noise in his throat and clutches sheriff close like he’ll evaporate if ennis doesn’t hold him tightly, and kisses back with the desperation of years of repressed need

annnnnnnd then they have more sex and happily ever after THE END


	14. Monogamy the Crap Out of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A response to the [last installment](http://eeames.tumblr.com/post/71998253758/teen-wolf-high-school-au-part-23-end-date) of [eeames](http://eeames.tumblr.com/)' infamous [high school AU](http://eeames.tumblr.com/tagged/tw+hs+au/chrono) and [lielabell's reaction tags](http://lielabell.tumblr.com/post/71999755056/eeames-teen-wolf-high-school-au-part-23). 
> 
> You'll want to read those first, or this will not make a whole lot of sense. Also you'll want to read those first just because they're awesome.

"Looking good, Hale!" Stiles shouts across the quad, holding both thumbs up. Derek, chatting with a few girls from his physics class, facepalms. "Like the leather!"

The new leather jacket, a gift from Stiles and combination birthday/Christmas/boyfriend present, had seemed way too big for Derek on the hangar, but Erica had been adamant about the size. Stiles is glad he listened, because it fits Derek to a T. One of the girls seems to like it, too, because she reaches out to touch it, her hand stroking along Derek’s arm.

Stiles is more bemused than jealous. After all, since when did girls hit on weird little Derek Hale, right? Actually, since when did girls crowd around Derek at all? When did that start happening?

Well, whatever. It’s not like they can have him. He and Stiles are a thing. They’re  _the_ thing. And they’ll continue thinging until hell freezes over, if Stiles has anything to say about it, and who cares if Derek is going to Pennsylvania for college while Stiles stays in California. People thing long-distance all the time.

Still, Stiles doesn’t like the way the girls are crowding closer, so he jogs over to defend his boo. Derek’s smiling and laughing, and Stiles falls a little further in love with the way the light falls on his face, highlighting the thick eyebrows and the straight nose and the cheekbones to make a Greek statue weep.

Stiles slows to a halt. He blinks, blinks again. Tilts his head as his mouth slowly falls open.

Holy shit, when the hell did Derek get  _hot?_

Stiles stares at Derek, feeling like he’s jogged into another universe instead of halfway across the quad, because Derek is hot like sun, and also sunbeaming like the sun, all bright and shiny and happy with all these girls clustered around him. _Pretty_ girls, too. The ones with the hair and the clothes and the legs that used to never even notice Derek’s peanut-eared existence, let alone give him the time of day.

Not anymore, apparently. Now that Derek got  _hot_.

"Frickin puberty jackpot," Stiles mumbles to himself. He feels awkwardly insecure, which is hella ironic considering that he’d had to drag Derek out on a month’s worth dates before Derek finally resigned himself to the reality of their epic love.

The bell rings, and Stiles watches as Derek and his flock of pretty girls move toward the class building.

He’s still a little out of it come lunch, picking at his corn distractedly, when Derek sits down next to him, just like usual. His hotness is even more intense close up, and Stiles struggles to reconcile the awkward, geeky face he fell for with the beefcake Adonis that just sat down.

"Hey, you okay?" Derek asks. His voice is still adorably high, thank god. Stiles doesn’t know if he could take it if his voice had dropped to a husky rumble as well.

He stares at Derek’s hot face, at the shoulders that he hadn’t even realized had gotten so big.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles says, and goes back to picking at his corn. "I’m fine."

He is. He’s totally fine. Not as fine as Derek, but he’s a solid B- on the scale of fineness. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?

So yeah, he’s fine. He’s just not okay.

He takes all his books and binders and shit out of his locker during the passing period before last period, so when the bell rings at 3:10, he’s practically the first person out into the parking lot.

"Stiles! Wait!"

Stiles slows down against his better judgment. He just really wants to go home and have a well deserved freak out and maybe eat some ice cream, provided his dad didn’t get to it first.

"Heyyyy, Derek," Stiles says sheepishly, scraping his fingers over his scalp. "What’s up?"

Derek’s eyebrows no longer crunch together into a unibrow when he scowls. Stiles is a little heartbroken at the loss.

"You’ve barely said a word to me today. And you didn’t text me in class like,  _at all_. Are you okay?”

"Ayep," Stiles says, backing away. Derek is looking at him with big concerned eyes under big concerned eyebrows and Stiles desperately needs some time to process  _away_ from all that concerned prettiness. “Just gonna, y’know, head home.”

"You have practice today," Derek reminds him.

"Stomach bug," Stiles lies.

"You’re lying. Look, are you mad at me or something?"

"Or something," Stiles mutters.

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes, and at least that’s familiar. “Is this about Winter Formal? I actually do want to go. I was just playing hard to get because I wanted you to bribe me with the new Assassin’s Creed game and my birthday already passed.”

"Oh my god! Seriously? I’m taking my freaking game back, jerk."

Derek folds his arms across his broad, pectacular chest. “Not unless you tell me why you’ve been acting weird since recess.”

Stiles scrubs his hands over his head and rubs his face. “It’s just,” he says, waving at Derek and his every all-the-things. “It’s just, you got  _hot_.”

Derek looks down at himself. “Is that a problem?” He holds out his shirt, checking for stains, and when it snaps back Stiles catches a glimpse of taut, tanned belly and a thin treasure trail.

And it’s not like he hasn’t put his mouth on all that before, but that was before Derek got hot. Or at least, before Stiles realized he got hot.

"You won the puberty jackpot, dude. The freaking Mega Millions or whatever."

Derek shrugs. “I finally caught up. So what?”

"Caught up?" Stiles asks incredulously. " _Caught up?_ You didn’t catch up, idiot. You Usain Bolt-ed your way to super hotness, leaving the rest of us eating your unfairly attractive dust and watching your bootylicious ass disappear into the distance.”

Derek’s eyebrows crunch together. “Are you being insecure right now? Because I got hot?” He rolls his eyes so hard it’s a wonder his whole head doesn’t pop off his thick neck. “You’re ridiculous. I love you, but you’re ridiculous.”

Stiles pouts. “You say that now, but what if someone way hotter than me comes along and you fall in love with them?”

Derek sighs. “This isn’t one of your dumb high school dramas, moron. And if you mention senpais even once, I’m going to key your jeep and tell your dad you deserved it. We’re stuck with each other now anyway, because UC Berkeley called to tell me I got in off the wait list, so I’m not going to U Penn after all.”

"Oh," Stiles says.

"Yeah," Derek agrees. "Now take me out for ice cream, since you’re apparently not going to practice. I’ll even let you make out with me in the shop if you pay for mine."

"Hell yes," Stiles says, and whips out his keys. "But I’m blowing you in the bathroom whether you like it or not."

Derek huffs and puffs and rolls his eyes, but he lets Stiles drag him across the parking lot by the hand anyway. He might as well get used to it, because Stiles intends to monogamy the crap out of him.


	15. enter Parental Unit, stage right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Parents_ , yo.

The most frustrating part about the Sheriff knowing about werewolves and hunters et al. is that he takes it as license to be a  _parent_ about it. Like, now that Stiles’ extracurriculars include being hounded by the forces of evil converging on Beacon Hills, suddenly he needs parental supervision and guidance where before he’d been doing…well, not fine, but halfway decently without it? As in, not dying?

Stiles gets about two words into what he’s sure will be a very persuasive argument in favor of him joining the pack on their most recent raid on the invasive supernatural before his dad shuts him down, putting a blanket ban on all things not explicitly academically related, or so help me, Stiles, you’ll be driven to school and back home by myself or a deputy.

Unfortunately, roving hordes of omegas wait for no man, Sheriff or not. So when his dad walks in on Derek catching the woefully sidelined Stiles up on all the recent comings and goings when such activities have been strictly forbidden…

"Hale," the Sheriff says stonily. His expression puts Stiles in mind of a weathered wall of granite. "There a reason you’re in my very _grounded_  son’s bedroom?”

Derek’s eyes dart back and forth between the Sheriff and Stiles. “I was just going, sir.”

"Not what I asked," the Sheriff says. His hand drifts to the gun at his hip.

Stiles jams a finger in his mouth, gnawing at the nail as he scrambles for an exit strategy that won’t land him in a boarding school somewhere in Canada or something.

"I was-" Derek begins haltingly. The whole pack knows that the Sheriff has cut Stiles off, but in this particular situation Derek won’t be able to throw Stiles under the bus without being dragged down as well. "Stiles and I were- We were talking about-"

"Movies!" Stiles blurts. "Derek is woefully deprived. You’d think, being a Marvel guy, that he’d have at least watched the first Iron Man, but you’d be totally wrong. Dad, it’s a travesty."

Derek nods along, head bobbling up and down even though his body language screams  _liar liar pants on fire._

"Movies," the Sheriff says. "And since when did you and Hale talk about  _movies_?”

Stiles’ arms slash through the air. He kicks out at Derek, who eyebrows back, and a whole conversation takes place between Stiles’ flapping hands and Derek’s twitching eyebrows. It’s sort of fascinating to watch.

"Since we’re dating!" Stiles says vehemently.

Derek drops his face into his hand.

"Ahuh," the Sheriff says. "Hale, out of my house."

Derek nods sharply and makes for the window.

"For god’s sake, use the goddamn door!" the Sheriff cries.

Derek nods sharply again, pivoting on his heel and squeezing gingerly past where the Sheriff is taking up most of the doorway.

"And you," the Sheriff says to Stiles. "Deputy Parrish will be driving you to school, and Deputy Parrish will be driving you home. You will be nowhere except home and school, barring time spent in transit between those two locations. Is that understood?"

"So, if I break my leg, should I go to the nurse’s office, or am I allowed to go to he hospital?"

The Sheriff frowns at him.

Stiles nods, biting his lips between his teeth. “Right. I’ll just try not to have a medical emergency. But what if something happens to the pack? They need my help, Dad.”

"Chris Argent assured me he’d be able to handle it."

Stiles snorts. “Sorry to disillusion you Dad, but Chris Argent couldn’t handle his own di-“

&&&

"-idn’t I tell you this would happen?" Stiles cries, hauling Isaac’s bleeding and moaning body in through the back door. "Oh my god, I hate that smell. Someone please tell me you got some of whatever bullets they were using."

"I think there’s one in my spleen," Isaac mumbles.

Derek frees up one hand from where he’s dragging Scott into the house to yank a handgun out of his waistband. He passes it off to the Sheriff, who immediately ejects a bullet from the chamber and pops the clip out to check for more.

"I told you, Dad. I  _told you_ Chris Argent couldn’t handle his own-“

"Yeah, yeah, message received, you told me so. Now get me my goddamn lighter."

Thankfully, there’s enough wolfsbane ash to go around. Isaac and Scott slump onto the Stilinskis’ couch while the Sheriff goes to put his brand new handgun in the safe with all the other weaponry he’s been picking up lately. (There's just enough room in the cramped space to squeeze it between a shotgun and crossbow.)

Meanwhile, Stiles and Derek clean up the smears of blood and stray ash.

"You didn’t get hit, right?" Stiles asks, passing Derek a damp rag. He gestures at Derek’s arm, where there’s a slash in the fabric and blood around the edge.

"Just a graze," Derek says.

Derek turns his arm to show Stiles. Stiles takes his elbow in one hand and nudges the slashed fabric open with the other. He rubs the smooth skin under the flaking blood.

"Remember when you used to come out of fights bloodier than everyone else?" Stiles asks. He takes the damp rag from Derek’s hand and wipes the dried blood off the healthy skin.

"I try not to."

"Me too," Stiles admits. He lets go of Derek’s elbow and puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder instead. "I’m glad you’re not getting hurt as much."

Stiles and Derek lock eyes, brown and green and familiar.

The Sheriff watches them from the stairs. He’d mentally scoffed when Stiles had offered up the paltry lie of them dating, but he suspects that he won’t be scoffing much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally the only reason I wrote this is to do that cut-off curse thing that you see in shows or movies or whatever. No joke. But it also ended up being a chance to try out a different way to portray Stiles and Derek, which I think came out a little truer to character.


	16. Phenomenal Cosmic Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek as cosmic entities.

Stiles grabs a chunk of cosmic debris and cups it between his hands, squishing it into a roughly spherical shape. A few quick spins on the tip of his finger smooths out the uneven edges, and he rolls it into orbit around the newly formed sun. It circles a few times, wobbly and new, before settling into a comfortable orbit.

It looks lonely. He grabs another hunk of space crap, mashes it into a planetish shape, and lobs it at the first planet. They collide in a bright spray of molten rock.

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s perched on the sun he just finished making, taking a breather while Stiles populates the system with planets.

"You’re a child," he says.

”And you’re like, only two seconds older than me. If I’m a child, so are you, neener neener.”

Much of the spray falls back toward the poor, abused little ball of rock, but a chunk falls into orbit around it, slowly resolving into a sphere. Stiles gives it a tap to set it spinning. With any luck, it’ll stay rotating at the exact right speed so that the same side will always be facing the planet.

Derek mashes some debris into a core and blows on it, gases layering over the core until he’s got a gas giant sitting between his hands. He lobs it at Stiles, who punts it out of the brand new system. The core falls apart almost instantly, gasses trailing along and dissipating into the vastness of space.

"Leave the planet-making to the planet-maker, dumbass. You can’t make a stable core for shit," Stiles snarks. He proceeds to demonstrate, making a proper core and curling bright layers of gas around it. It looks sort of like a round, many-layered cake, and fits neatly out into a further orbit. Chunks of space debris start falling into it, or falling into orbit around it. He makes another gas giant and puts a large halo of rings around it for shits and giggles and pissing off Derek, who has no concept nor tolerance for decoration. Star makers are such a boring lot.

And on cue, Derek’s lip curls. “You missed a spot,” he says, pointing at the gap between the first three planets and the first gas giant.

Stiles shrugs. “Asteroid belt.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

"Fine," Stiles bitches, "Whatever." He gathers some stuff, mashes it into two planets, and tosses them negligently into orbit.

"Hurry up with the rest," Derek says, hopping off the new sun and patting hydrogen and plasma off his ass. "We’ve got three more systems to do before lunch, and your dad wants our help with a three-star system."

"Wah wah wah," Stiles mutters at a blue ball of gas and ice. He rolls it into orbit sideways because _reasons_.

A malformed planetish looking thing wobbles past Stiles while he’s making the eighth planet. As he watches, a huge chunk crumbles off and falls into orbit around the main mass, the two objects settling into an off-kilter, elliptical orbit around the new sun.

Stiles sighs, rolls the last planet into orbit, and nudges the little baby planet into an orbit less likely to land it in the sun. It’s a cute little fucker, and actually a damn sight better than Derek’s usual clumsy attempts.

"Fine! I’ll make the damn cupcakes, okay? Are you going to quit being a butt now?"

"I’m not a butt, you’re a butt," Derek says with affection, coming up behind Stiles and leaning over his shoulder to plant a peck on Stiles’ cheek.

 _Your mom’s a butt_ , Stiles refrains from saying. He once made the mistake of pissing Talia off.  _Once._ He’s sure as hell not gonna do it again.

"And if I catch you sneaking my dad more cupcakes than he’s allowed, you’re sleeping on the couch!"

"Sure. Now hurry up so we can get these systems done and tell your dad the good news."

"I knew you were enabling him," Stiles hisses, elbowing Derek in the ribs. Derek smirks and Stiles snatches the fifth planet out of its orbit, mashing it into Derek’s smug face and getting the debris everywhere. "If you weren’t a smoking hot sun god I’d totally cut you off!"

"I’d like to see you try, you horny little pervert." Derek mutters, rubbing his face clean on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles shoves him away, only to chase after him, mashing their mouths together.

"S’not my fault you make my dick happy," Stiles says to Derek’s tongue.

"Mmph, love you too, idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talia is the manifestation of Energy. Stiles' Dad is the manifestation of Gravity. Supernovas resulting in black holes happen because Sheriff is irritated that Stiles and Derek stained his and Claudia's old couch with jizz and never cleaned it up.
> 
> Also, Pluto is a planet and anyone who dares tell me otherwise may present themselves to be slapped sharply across the face.


	17. You're only in trouble if you get caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [heathicorn](http://heathicorn.tumblr.com/)'s [recap of illuminated](http://heathicorn.tumblr.com/post/75131730304/a-brief-summary-illuminated) inspired in me a great need for fic where kira and stiles develop a profound broship over breaking the law and scott is forever trailing in their wake trying to do damage control

* * *

Kira stretches her leg down the length of the couch to prod Stiles in the thigh. 

"Hey," she says, smiling cheerfully. "Hey. Let’s rob a bank."

A grin to match hers spreads across Stiles’ face, his eyes sparking with manic glee. He yanks out his cell phone and starts hunting down not-quite-local banks.

Scott lunges out of the kitchen and snatches the phone out of his hand, then goes for Kira’s just in case. “NO! Bad Stiles! Bad Kira! Bad decisions! No robbing banks!”

Kira makes sad-eyes at Scott. “But Scott, we’ve already robbed all the museums in a fifty mile radius.”

Stiles pulls out his own shimmery doe-eyes, lip pursing in a pout. “Yeah, Scott.”

"And Deaton threatened to move to India if we got past his defenses one more time, Scott," Kira whines, shuffling across the couch to cuddle up next to Stiles.

"Yeah, Scott," Stiles agrees, mushing his face up next to Kira’s.

The power of their respective pleading eyes combines into blinding spotlight of big shiny eyes and wobbling lower lips centered on a slightly sweating Scott. He can feel his resolve crumbling like a levee made of sand. You’d think, after years of friendship, he’d at least be inured to Stiles’ big shimmery eyes shtick, but he hadn’t been counting on Kira to share her bag of cunning tricks.

He sweats, frets, and caves like Arizona’s Colorado Plateau caved to the Colorado River. 

"At least wait a few weeks," he says sullenly, handing back their phones and slumping back into the kitchen. "It’s not like you don’t still have to fence all that stuff from the jewelry store you robbed _literally this morning_ , or anything.”

The stack of wet dishes next to the sink has grown in Scott’s absence, Derek having gone on with the dishwashing.

"You need to control your boyfriend," Scott mutters.

"Once you start controlling _your_ girlfriend,” Derek blandly counters. “Besides,  _you_ were the one who first introduced Kira to breaking the law.”

"I know," Scott sobs into a dishtowel.

"Scott," Kira calls, "Could you make us some sandwiches while you’re in there?"

Scott reaches for the bread without conscious thought.

"I want grilled cheese!" Stiles shouts, already clacking away at a laptop, though Derek was already turning toward the fridge to get the cheese and butter.

Cora glances up from her PSP long enough to mime cracking a whip. “Wh-chh,” she says. “You guys are so whipped.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kira is basically the female version of Stiles. Someone should do a gifset with all the parallels between Kira and Stiles. That would be relevant to everyone's interests.


	18. Welcome to Your unHappily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU post 3x18
> 
> Inspired by the suspicion that the whole nogitsune!Stiles possession situation is not as clear cut as Jeff has made it look. Probably will be debunked as early as 3x19
> 
> Warning: angst ahooooyyyy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not kidding about the angst. seeeriously not kidding.

“ _Dissociative Identity Disorder. It’s on top of the frontotemporal dementia, but the doctors say that the level of atrophy seems to have stabilized since the alternate personality took over.”_

_"So it was never the nogitsune possessing him."_

_"No. Mrs. Yukimura has made very sure that the nogitsune was dealt with. This is just…Stiles. A different side, but still him."_

_"That isn’t Stiles. Stiles would die before harming anyone he cares about. Last time Scott went in to see him Stiles had to be pulled off of him by both Derek and Isaac before he could choke Scott to death."_

_"We all have darkness in us. That occasional desire to harm even those we hold dearest to us. The Nemeton’s influence has strengthened that desire in Scott and Allison as well, but the frontotemporal dementia has simply made Stiles more vulnerable to that darkness. If anything, I would say that this is a survival mechanism. The Stiles we know would simply have endured his illness, but this alter seems to be actively fighting it.”_

_"So we should just let Stiles stay this way? What happens when he hurts someone?_ Kills _someone? What can we even do?”_

&&&

Derek curls his hand around the door knob. It’s cool under his palm and turns smoothly, the door opening soundlessly into Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles, or rather, Stiles’ alter, is sitting on the bed, staring at the blank wall across. Once, it had been almost solidly papered over by photos and articles and red yarn, but now it is bare. All the walls are bare now, stripped of anything the alter might conceivably use to harm someone.

"Stiles," Derek says. He hefts a tray. "Lunch."

Stiles’ eyes slide to Derek. He pats the space next to him on the bed. The alter seems to like company, right up until he absolutely detests it, but he seems to be more lenient in his wrath towards a certain few people. Derek isn’t sure how he made it onto that short list, and still hasn’t decided if it’s a good thing or not.

He hands the tray off to Stiles, who holds it while Derek gets settled next to Stiles on the bed. Stiles’ eyes follow Derek’s every movement.

Once upon a time, Derek had called Stiles skinny and defenseless. Now, he feels the alter’s gaze on him like a rabbit feels a wolf’s. 

Lunch is soup and a sandwich on styrofoam dishes with plastic spoons. There’s two servings of everything, enough for Derek and Stiles both, and Derek takes care to watch Stiles out of the corner of his eye while they apply themselves to eating.

Before, Stiles eating had almost been a spectacle, an interactive experience between boy and food, but the alter moves with smooth deliberation. Never a movement wasted, a gesture out of place. It puts Derek in mind of Peter, minus the louche affectations.

"What’re you thinking about?" the alter asks.

Derek eyes Stiles’ hands. They’re relaxed, one curled gracefully around a spoon. But then again, Derek’s seen him go from a slouched repose to attempting to rip someone’s eyes out in the space of a single fraction of a second.

"I was thinking about Peter," Derek says.

The alter smirks. “Miss that guy. Tell him he should visit more often.”

Derek has no intention of informing Peter of anything Stiles or his alter say, but he nods anyway.

The alter enjoys Peter’s visits with a kind of unholy, profane glee. Peter seems to enjoy them too, up to and including when Stiles sinks inhumanly strong fingers into Peter’s throat and does his level best to tear it out. It usually results in someone dragging Peter’s bleeding, gasping body out of the room while someone else forcibly restrains the alter, but they both grin like the devil through the whole farce and eagerly ask after each other in hopes of another vicious meeting.

"We didn’t see you yesterday," the alter says. He slips a grape into his mouth and leans back on one hand, watching Derek from under his eyelashes.

"Your dad didn’t want to overwhelm you," Derek says. Also, he’d been with Deaton, discussing what to do about the steadily growing power within Stiles, the same power that allowed him to single-handedly wipe the floor with every oni Mrs. Yukimura sent after him. "But happy birthday."

"Finally seventeen. One more year to go." The alter smiles, all teeth and curved lips like a toothpaste commercial. 

"Until you’re eighteen?" Derek’s eyes narrow. "What happens then?"

The edges of the alter’s smile sharpen until they’re keen enough to slice through bone. He drops the hand nearest Derek onto Derek’s thigh, high up enough that Derek can’t ignore his meaning. He tries to shift away, but Stiles’ grip pins him to the mattress like a butterfly to a board.

That strength again, that terrifying strength that even Scott and all his true alpha abilities can’t match. Derek’s heart thunders in his chest as all his instincts scream to flee.

Then the hand is gone and Stiles goes back to eating his sandwich.

_NO,_ Derek wants to scream.  _Not again, please not again. Not you, not when you’re wearing his face and his body, please god no._

Instead, he curls shaking hands around the other half of his sandwich and eats.

The rest of the meal is silent. It’s peaceful, for a visit with Stiles and his alter, but who can say if it’ll last?

As Derek is piling the styrofoam dishes back onto the tray, the alter says, “Do you want to talk to him?”

Derek’s hands shake. The alter curls his own hands over Derek’s, a graceful parody of comfort. He leans into Derek’s space.

"But remember, every second he’s out is a second his brain is dying and another hour I’ll have to spend fixing it."

Derek’s eyes dart to Stiles’. Fixing it? Is that what the alter has been doing? Restoring Stiles’ brain?

The styrofoam bowls slip from Derek’s numb and shaking fingers. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes and his heart clenches in a vise of sharp-edged hope.

"His- Your father," Derek croaks. "Please, let him talk to your father."

Stiles runs his hands up from Derek’s hands, up along his forearms, upper arms, looping over his shoulders until he’s got Derek snared in a loose embrace.

"If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do," Stiles says, and shreds the back of Derek’s shirt to rip out his shoulder blades.

It takes both Scott and the Sheriff to pry Stiles’ fingers out from between Derek’s ribs, and it’s a full four days before the broken ones heal completely, but the spark of hope and the candle-flame of gratitude linger much longer. Long enough that Derek forgets the bitter scent of the alter’s lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I wasn't kidding.


	19. Pet Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written late 3b, when I was 1000% ready for the Nogitsune story arc to be resolved and for the characters to hurry up and get their heal on. (Not that, like, Jeff would ever write about characters addressing their traumas in healthy ways, but whatever.)

Derek turns the toy over in his hands. He recognizes it for what it is, though when they’d been popular way back when he was a kid, they hadn’t looked like quite this.

"What the hell is this?" he asks.

Stiles shrugs, leaning against the edge of the door. His toes peep over the track, which is the furthest he’s gotten into Derek’s loft since… Christ, god knows when. “What it says on the front, dumbass. It’s a Tamagotchi.”

Derek arches a deliberate eyebrow. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

Stiles’ hands swipe rigidly through the air. “Love it. Care for it. Nurture it. Teach it the ways of the wolf,  _I don’t care_. Just keep the damn thing alive, okay?” _  
_

Derek does not let his eyebrow fall back to resting position.

"It was Kira’s idea, okay?" Stiles sighs, shoving a hand through his disheveled rat’s nest of hair. "She said that maybe taking care of something would help. Or something. So she gave me these stupid boyfriend/girlfriend Tamagotchis and told me to give it one to someone that I’d have to actually leave my room to see."

He fishes his own Tamagotchi out of his pocket, a pastel pink to Derek’s baby blue, and stretches an arm out over the threshold. Derek holds out his own toy and when the plastic shells tap, the little devices chirp happily.

"They die if they go more than three days without seeing each other," Stiles explains. He shoves his Tamagotchi back into his pocket and takes a step back out into the hallway outside Derek’s front door. "So, uh, I’ll text you or something, so you know to expect me."

Derek looks down at the blue device with new eyes and swipes a thumb gently over the three protruding buttons.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "How did you get here? Do you need a ride home?"

"No, Kira drove me."

Derek remembers a time when Stiles always had to be the one driving, even if that meant everyone cramming into his crusty old jeep. 

"Let me walk you down," Derek offers, stepping forward.

Stiles flinches back, taking a long step backward to widen the space between them. He rubs his hands together and scratches at his fingers, like he’s trying to scrape something off of them. It’s a habit that’s stuck, even though Scott has said that Stiles isn’t hallucinating blood on his hands anymore.

"No. It’s fine. Kira’s waiting. I should go," Stiles says, staccato bursts of speech. Beads of sweat are welling up on his upper lip and at his hairline and his scent is starting to sour with anxiety.

"Okay," Derek says gently. "It was good to see you again, Stiles. I’ll see you again in a few days, okay?"

"What?" Stiles asks. His eyes dart nervously over Derek, over the open space of the loft. "Why?"

Derek holds his blue Tamagotchi up. “For this, remember? We’re going to take care of these together, and I can’t do it without your help. You have to come visit so we can keep them alive.”

"Oh! Oh, yeah." Stiles blinks, fishes his pink Tamagotchi out to verify its existence. His hummingbird heartbeat doesn’t slow, but at least it stops accelerating. "Right."

"Kira’s waiting downstairs for you. I’ll see you soon."

Stiles scrapes a hand through his hair. He’s badly in need of a haircut, but Kira’s the only one he trusts to be within five feet of him, and Derek doubts she has much experience with hair styling.

Stiles shudders, visibly scrapes himself back together, and nods at Derek. “I’ll text you.”

He flees to the elevator, one eye fixed firmly back over his shoulder so that he almost brains himself on the elevator’s door. Derek doesn’t move a muscle until Stiles is out of sight, the rapid thrum of his heart disappearing down the elevator shaft. Only then does he breathe out, shut the door.

Derek goes to his laptop, Lydia-approved and still shiny and new. It’s been a while since he last had a Tamagotchi, but he’s determined that this one will die for nothing less than the second coming of Christ.


	20. Curtain Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally. Curtain fic about curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For visuals of the cartoon kitten, look up Chii's Sweet Home. The curtains are otherwise utterly fictional and up to your imagination.

"How about-"

"No."

"They’d loo-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

Stiles pinches his lips tight and gives the display curtain a sharp jerk.

"You’re an asshole, y’know that?"

"You’d know," Derek returns. "And I’m not having that in my apartment."

Stiles frowns. He doesn’t actually give a shit about the curtain; it’s a gaudy white-on-red patterned monstrosity, but he’s kind of pissed at the whole ‘my’ part of that sentence, like it’s not Stiles’ apartment, too. It’s why he doesn’t so much as glance at the pastel yellow curtain hanging a few feet away, cartoon kittens gamboling along the hem.

"Yeah, well not all of us are colorblind and perfectly happy buying everything in variations of grey."

Derek rolls his eyes and moves away, running his hand along a navy blue curtain. Stiles is pretty sure it’ll make their already cramped bedroom look even smaller.

But it’s not- Look, he likes his life. He likes his job, likes their apartment, likes his freedom, sometimes even likes Derek. But sometimes he just wants  _more_. A house instead of yet another in a long line of minimalist, big-windowed apartments. A yard with a tree instead of a perpetually dying houseplant. A car that’ll stick around longer than a few months.

Maybe he’s finally turning into his dad, but Stiles wants  _stability_.

Derek has moved to another display, his back to Stiles, so Stiles takes the opportunity to look at the kitten curtains. They’re stiff to the touch, cheery panels of fresh, sturdy cotton. The kittens themselves are embroidered on, and Stiles runs his finger along the threads, smiling down at the image of the kitten pouncing on a toy mouse. It’s cute as everloving fuck and Stiles bites his lip just to feel the sting.

"Stiles?"

Stiles takes a second to pack it in before turning. “What’s up?” he says nonchalantly. “Find something you like?”

Derek looks at him with piercing eyes that have never quite managed to break through Stiles’ masks. “Have you?”

Stiles shrugs, flips his hands through the air. “Whatcha got there?” he asks, gesturing at the packaged curtain tucked under Derek’s arm.

Derek looks down at it. “Nothing.” He puts it on a nearby shelf of miscellaneous curtain crap. “Let’s get something cheap. I’m thinking of getting a new place, anyway.”

Stiles doesn’t sigh. It’s more of a slow exhale. “Yeah? You got one picked out?”

"Still looking. I saw some cheaper curtains over there. You wanna take a look while I go to the bathroom?"

Stiles shrugs and goes. It’s by pure chance that he decides to look back over his shoulder at Derek, who hasn’t taken a single step toward the bathroom. No, he’s staring down the kitten curtains, fingers flexing restlessly at his sides.

Stiles’ heart squeezes tight and he ducks his head, biting his lips between his teeth to squash a tentative, hopeful smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol if I wrote this from Derek's POV it'd be a total angstfest about how he feels like his relationship with Stiles is crumbling and he can't figure out why because Stiles is becoming discontent and yet more and more opaque about what makes him happy. And then the kitty curtains would be this huge fucking clue, _finally_ some insight into what's going through Stiles' brain, that he'd grab onto like, 'kids? does he want us to have kids? he wants kids? am i ready for kids? omg we can't have kids in the apartment its a goddamn death trap they'd die from tetanus or syphillis or aids or the bubonic plague because kids are supposed to be raised in a _house_!'
> 
> And suddenly the gardening magazine Derek found under the couch cushion of Stiles' preferred end of the couch makes way more sense.


	21. Until We Met Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> creeperdwarf requested: stripper!Derek/frat-dude!Stiles, lap dance. Derek’s the grumpiest stripper Stiles has ever met & Derek gets confused as to how he ends up riding this punk kid’s dick in the back of the club. (He totally didn’t mean to.)

Derek doesn’t know what chafes more: the cheap cement siding of the stripper joint against his chest and palms, the grate of the frat kid’s zipper against his ass cheeks as the frat kid grinds and ruts and rolls his hips against Derek’s exposed ass, or the throaty rasp of the frat kid’s voice in Derek’s ear as he gasps and moans and murmurs sweet nothings about how hot and tight Derek’s ass is.

Fuck, what the hell is even going on? One minute he’s giving some college kid his pre-paid lapdance, the next he’s outside, naked but for his thong looped around one ankle and getting fucked through a concrete wall. He has some vague recollections of the interim period, mostly flashes of honey amber eyes, skittering fingers, and a pink-lipped smirk to drive a man mad.

And fuck if that doesn’t chafe more than E) all of the above, that he’s getting fucked right behind the grungy strip joint where he makes a lean living because of some arrogant college kid’s pretty eyes and smile.

Broad hands skim up from his hips, pulling his chest away from the wall to tweak cold-pricked nipples. The contrast between icy cement and warm hands makes Derek shiver and he leans back into the kid’s arms, eyes drifting shut. The yellow-orange of the nearest street lamp filters through his eyelids and he focuses on it, the dim glow an illusion of warmth on a chilly spring night. The lips that purse against the side of his neck and blow hot, humid breaths against his jaw seem almost to burn by comparison.

The kid’s grinding gets more insistent, the bite of his fly sharper, the pressure against Derek’s prostate heavier. Blunt, bitten nails scratch down the center of Derek’s belly and a hot hand wraps tightly around his cock, smearing precome over Derek’s length.

"Fuck, gonna come," the frat kid groans. Derek can feel the vibration of it against the backs of his shoulders. "You gonna come, too?"

If the kid keeps fisting Derek’s cock like that, then sure, eventually. Derek reaches down to guide the kid’s hand. Less pressure on the shaft, more twist around the head, the tease of bitten nails against the frenulum. Yeah, Derek’s gonna come, too.

"Holy god, you’re so beautiful," the kid says.

Derek knows. He does damn well in tips, especially when he smiles. The hand not jerking his cock slides up, tracing the collarbone, throat, edge of Derek’s jaw, and gently cups Derek’s cheek.

A thumb caresses Derek’s cheek bone and he opens his eyes, staring sightlessly and wordlessly out at the narrow access street behind the strip joint. He arches, chokes down a moan, and comes.

The kid stops him before they go back into the strip club, hunting through his wallet for a battered business card. There’s a grocery list on the back, and the name of the county’s Sheriff on the front.

"Give him a call. Please. Tell him," the kid scratches a hand through his hair, "tell him Stiles gave you his number."

The kid’s honey eyes look black in the dim light, his pink lips faded and shapeless. Still, there’s something compelling about him, the same brand of compelling that had lured Derek into dragging him out back in the first place. On that alone, Derek thinks he might just call.

The kid nods decisively, leans in, sways away, shakes his head, smiles tentatively, and goes back inside with hunched shoulders.

Derek shivers. He’s in just his thong and the kid’s canvas jacket, but he tips the card into the light, remembering a time when he’d been fifteen and doing a project for school. One of those career projects, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ projects.

Back then, he’d wanted nothing more in life than to be a cop, and for his project he’d gone to the county Sheriff’s department and interviewed one of the Deputies. Derek vaguely remembers the man, blue eyes and a compelling warmth, even when he was scolding his son for doing his homework in a rainbow of Crayola colors.

For that, Derek thinks he’ll call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally planned to be a humor fic, but I wanted to experiment with skipping all the foreplay and banter and jumping straight to the dicking, so it ended up as weird atmospheric introspection porn instead. Whoops.


	22. Life hack #3495: If you see a sword in a stone, for god's sake don't pull it out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transistor AU yaaaay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Transistor is a video game about a mute woman and her talking sword going around kicking asses and taking names.

Derek thinks he’s hallucinating at first, the faint glow of light a figment of his imagination brought on by severe dehydration and endless hours of wandering the mountain’s pitch black natural caves and caverns. He approaches it at a cautious shuffle. His left big toe aches with each step; he broke it at some point during his mad scramble from the mine’s overseers and their rowan-tipped cat o' nine tails. There hadn’t been time to let it set, not when he was sprinting full tilt down a blocked off mineshaft, and no good light for it after the floor of the shaft crumbled out from under him and dropped him into Paths knew where.

The light grows brighter as he gets closer, his oversensitive eyes stinging and darting away even from the dim sliver of red.

It takes long minutes of squinting before he can really see again, and what he sees is a sword stuck almost to its crossguard in a large rock. The light seems to be coming from the scant half inch that isn’t buried.

His hands flex and extend. On the one hand, he could pull the sword out and hope that it stays lit brightly enough that he won’t have to use the clumsy approximation of echolocation he’d been relying on. On the other hand, no normal sword ever got itself stuck in a rock. The only way that happens is if someone _puts_ it there, and Derek’s heard enough tales to know that those people usually have a good reason. He’s also heard enough to know that pulling these swords out tend to bring more trouble than they’re worth.

Still… It’s not like Derek’s gotten any closer to escaping the damn mountain while blind as the Deep Path’s creepies and crawlies. He reaches out and pulls.

And pulls and pulls, his arms straining to lift the unexpected weight. He has to hop onto the rock to get the bottom half of the sword out of the rock and suddenly he’s got five feet of broad, shining scimitar blinding him with red light.

[ _woah_ ]

Derek startles, dropping the sword. He looks around frantically, trying to find the source of the voice, but the only heartbeat he hears is his own. Senses alert, he hops down and lifts the sword once more.

[ _ow, hey, let’s not with the dropping please, thanks_ ]

Derek throws the sword, watches it slice through the air and clatter hilt-first against the stone wall of the cave. It- it had _talked_ to him, right into his head, and he just _knew_ the damn thing was in that damn rock for a Paths damned reason.

And yet. He looks back the way he came, at the impenetrable darkness that had been near to driving him mad. The sword’s blade pulses brighter at irregular intervals, little bursts of brightness. Derek steps closer and presses a toe to the hilt. It’s pulsing in time with the sword’s _words_.

[ _-ind of asshole throws a guy around like that, huh? c’mere you uncivilized bastard! wait are you touching me with your filthy foot you jackass? imma kick your ass from here to hell and back, have some goddamn respec_ _t for your elde-_ ]

Derek hops away as sparks start jumping off the round amber gem set in the widest part of the blade. They’re not particularly impressive sparks; Derek’s thrown off bigger ones striking his flint. He leans down and picks up the sword again.

[ _okay okay, i’ll be nice, i promise, just don’t leave me here in this fucking mountain, please pretty please. you don’t know what it’s like! i’ve been here for, god, i don’t even know how long, just that it’s been way freaking long, so please don’t leave me stuck here. i’ll do anything, okay? what do you want? just say the word and it’s yours. just say the word._ ]

[…]

[ _say any word?_ ]

Derek shakes his head.

[ _don’t talk? is that, like, a personal choice, or a religious thing?_ ]

Derek shakes his head again. The stub of muscle that used to be his tongue twitches in his mouth.

[ _wow that’s not gonna make this any harder at all. how do i… oh! how about we play twenty questions. i ask a question and you nod or shake. sound good?_ ]

Derek nods.

[ _so, uh, you’re looking pretty thirsty, dude. want me to find you some water?_ ]

Derek nods eagerly, then less so as the world spins.

[ _take it easy there, bro. you’re my only ticket out of this pit. and judging by the warded shackles on your wrists and ankles, i’m guessing i’m your ticket too. so we’ll want to be going that way. no, your left. yeah._ ]

Derek heads back down the path he’d come through, the sword held out in front of him like a torch to light the way. It’s nice to be able to see where the fuck he’s stepping instead of bashing his toes on every loose rock or uneven bit of stone. Speaking of, maybe he’ll be able to reset his aching toe now that he’s got some light to see what he’s doing.

[ _hey so, i know you can’t exactly tell me your name, but mine’s stiles. not that, um, you’ll be able to use it, but so you know. in the interests of disclosure._ ]

Stiles, huh? Well, Derek’s heard stranger names. He nods.

[ _yeah, nice to meet you to, buddy. i don’t know about you, but i think this is the start of something pretty special._ ]

Derek rolls his eyes. Paths, but he hopes not. The last thing he wants is to be one of those unfortunate idiots in the stories who pull a shiny sword out of a rock and suddenly get mixed up in all kinds of trouble. Once this _…Stiles_ thing gets him out of the mountain, he’s dumping it and making his own way to the southern Free lands. _Alone._

Yeah, that sounds good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha joke's on derek, who gets strong-armed into ending werewolf slavery and has to defeat his evil uncle who wants to kill all humans.


End file.
